Paper Wings
by Atreyu429
Summary: Being a cop is never easy. Neither is being thrown into a world of fiction. And after reluctantly joining C-Sec, I'll have to learn both lessons the hard way. Drug rings, psychotic gang leaders, blackmarket organ dealers, slave runners. It's all standard fare here. And beyond all that, powerful forces follow my every step. Surviving it all may not be an option...
1. The Man Comes Around

Chapter One:

The Man Comes Around

"I don't belong here

We gotta move on dear

Escape from this afterlife

'Cause this time I'm right

To move on and on

Far away from here."

_Afterlife, Avenged Sevenfold_

**July 1, 2186**

**9:32, GST**

**Location Unknown**

_The camera flickers to life._

_ A gentle hum is heard as it displays a view of a large room lined with bunk beds, five in a row on opposite walls. The beds are impeccably well made and shine with military crispness. A single chair is in front of the camera. The room is empty and bare, no movement visible. Nothing changes for a few moments, no sound echoes out._

_A hand hugs the screen, cutting off a sizable chunk of the view. The camera shakes on its stand as some movement is heard and something indiscernible moves between the digits. The hand vanishes, revealing a young man staring into the lense. His blue eyes gaze into the eye of the device, seemingly searching for something. His tongue absently rolls over his lips as he watches the camera for any telltale movement._

_"Is . . . is this thing on?" He shakes the camera again. "Can you, uh, give me a sign? Like, an orange light or something?" He smacks the camera with little restraint. "Hello?"_

_The man jostles the camera again but this time it becomes free of its stand and begins to fall. The man fumbles for the camera but the camera smacks the floor with a loud clatter, the feed visibly distorting on impact. "Motherfucker!" He grabs the camera with haste, lifting it so the focal point shifts back to his face. "Shit, if I broke this thing..." The camera shifts in the man's hands as he not so deftly checks the camera for abrasions, muttering expletives to himself. Finally, he rests the camera back on its stand in the original position._

_He begins to back away, precautionary hands held out to catch the camera. "Okay, just don't fall, or anything. Got it? Can you do that for me, Mr. Inanimate Object? Can you?" He straightens his back. "Ah fuck it, it's not my camera anyway."_

_He saunters over to the lone chair in the room and plops down on it, making the chair bend in noticeable degrees with his weight. A loud sigh escapes him as he stretches his legs and runs a hand through his short, dirty blonde hair. After a moment of staring at something off-screen, he acknowledges the camera._

_"I would really like to shower before I do this, but I can't afford to waste any time here. God knows we have so little of it these days." He pauses. "Though I did have time to dress back into my downtime clothes." He gestures to his outfit, a twenty first century T-shirt and jeans. "But I can't be all dirty and torn up for this can I? Need to look handsome here. Not that I'm not always stunningly beautiful, mind you, but it's hard to look clean cut when you've got bullet holes in your chest. Something I've learned first-hand."_

_He leans back in his chair and twists his neck in a rough motion, producing an audible crack._

_"In a few days, everything's gonna change. For better or, more likely, for the worse. And after seeing Liara's little time capsule thing, I got the idea to make this," the man gestures towards the camera, "an account of my journey through this whole clusterfuck of an adventure. I want to say I'm doing this for the future generations, to aid them if things here do go to shit, but I'm not. I'm doing this for me. To finally open up about who I am and . . . confess, I guess is the right word."_

_He pauses and chuckles with little humor._

_"Really hope this goes better than the last time. Talk about a fucking close shave. Nearly burned a bunch of bridges and screwed myself over. Shepard in particular didn't take it too well, but whatever. Water under the bridge now."_

_He stops for a moment, eyes glazed over slightly in memory. A hint of a wince tugs at his mouth before disappearing._

_"But I don't want to lie anymore. Time to pull the metaphorical walls down. So, here I am, about to spill my guts to whoever the fuck is going to be listening." His eyes widen and he quickly places a hand over his mouth. "I should probably cut back on the swearing shouldn't I? Sorry if I came off as an assh-, as a jerk just now. It's… been a long day and I'm still not entirely relaxed. Plus if you hang out with people like Jack and Zaeed for months on end, you start talking like them too. I won't censor myself with the actual storytelling. Historical accuracy and all that. But I'll keep any comments I have PG for the kids at home."_

_His eyes widen again as he sits up straighter in his chair._

_"Oh! I haven't even introduced myself have I? Well that's pretty rude, if I do say so myself. Right, um, I'm… Quinn. Quinn is what everyone calls me so that's how I'll refer to myself. I'm not trying to hide my name, that's just... how everyone knows me. Some of my closest friends today probably don't even know my first name and I've been through hell with them. I'm kinda like Shepard in that way. Except for the whole 'savior of all known sentient life' thing but that's just splitting hairs huh?"_

_"Crap, I'm going off on a tangent. Need to get this story started or I'll be talking forever." He stops and stares at the ground, lips tight against each other. "I'll skip over my early life. Not much happens there and it's honestly rather boring. Hm." He puts a hand up to his mouth in contemplation. "I guess I'll start when I first got to the Citadel. That's when my story really picks up, working with C-Sec and everything. Fun times. Although how I got there is by far the most fantastical part of my story. It wasn't just a simple shuttle ride from Earth that got me to the heart of galactic civilization."_

_He looks up at the camera and smirks, blue eyes glinting._

_"I did have to die first. . . ."_

**Time Unknown**

Chirping. That was the first thing I became aware of. An unknown bird, relatively close by, was chirping happily and carefree. It was a jovial sound, the sound that gave beauty and life to nature, a sound I had never truly gotten to enjoy growing up in a large city. Another bird joined in, it's tune different but just as melodic. More and more joined until it became a symphony of beauty, a sound of pure ecstasy to the ears. The next thing I noticed was the smell of pine, a fresh sweet smell that filled my nostrils intoxicatingly. Each breath sent a wave of pleasure down my throat as I inhaled, warming my body. I filled my lungs greedily with the aroma.

My body reacquired its senses slowly, unsurely. I became aware of a vast expanse of blue in front of me, the same color of the summer sky. A cloud drifted by lazily and I realized that I was indeed actually looking at the sky. I was lying down on my back on what felt to be a layer of grass. The vines swayed with a soft breeze, gently rubbing against my skin and making a light whistling noise. My entire body was at ease, without an ounce of pain or discomfort. I didn't want to move a muscle. I was so content to lay here and watch the clouds slowly drift away and listen to the melody of life that moving would feel like a great tragedy.

Where am I? Am I in the forest? How the hell did I get here? I should have been at least a little concerned of my sudden whereabouts, but I found I just didn't… care. The rational part of my mind was confused, but the atmosphere of my surroundings was numbing me. I tried to shift through the haze of complacency, trying to retrace my steps in my head. What had I been doing?

_Bright lights, dark horizon. Rock blasting on the cheap radio. One hand on the steering wheel, the other on the empty window. Wind gusting by, disheveling hair. The feeling of freedom, of limitless possibility. The world stretched before me, ripe for the taking._

I tried harder, pushing deeper into my subconscious. I was fighting an overwhelming feeling of… apathy. Who cared how I got here? I was here, that was enough. The birds' symphony grew louder, more hypnotic. The wind kicked up just a little, tickling my arms with the grass. A cloud, in the mysterious shape of Africa, drifted by. I was being sucked into mental submission.

No. Fight. Think. My rational mind was drowning in the euphoria but I was clinging on, trying to keep my head above the seductive water. There has to be some reason I am here. I need to remember.

_Headlights illuminating the barren road. Music raging at full volume, half-hearted sing along. A fumble, a frantic reach, a sigh. Bending down and grabbing the offender. Four legged figure in front, ears up, eyes wide. Panic. Adrenaline. Instinct. A hard turn, the unforgiving pull of gravity. Crunch of steel and bone. Tiny, sharp diamonds of glass dancing in the air. The hard surface of the roof. Whiplash. Dizziness. Complete lack of control._

It was getting harder and harder to remember. The sweet bliss was overwhelming, maddeningly alluring. Fight. Fight. Fight.

_Complete darkness. The feeling of suspension. Warm liquid cascading through hair. Ragged breaths, heart pounding. Dull pain. Incredulity. An unconscious prayer to whomever._

_Distorted music. "C-c-c-com***n b**y d-d-don't fe*****e reap**."_

_Sudden bright light. Roar of a behemoth. Rubber screeching. Menacing grill bearing down. A final desperate breath. A silenced scream. Nothingness._

I'm… dead? And this is… heaven? There is an afterlife? I was kind of expecting more fluffy clouds and angels. And awkward conversations with relatives. But this is… nice. I could really stand being here forever.

Time here was different. Back on Earth, seconds and minutes and hours could be tracked, recorded, and defined. One could definitively track the passage of time. Not so much here. I didn't have any sense of time. I could've lain here for hours, days, even weeks. It would've made no difference at all. The scenery never changed. The sky never darkened, the chirping never ceased, the breeze never stopped, the pungent air never defused. Everything here was eternally young, forever the apex of beauty. There was no worry, no fear, and no pain. I was at peace.

"Get up Mr. Quinn."

The voice was light and non-threatening but held a slight authoritarian echo to it, like a friendly teacher would talk to a favorite student. I turned my head tentatively, unwilling to break my mold of comfort. A man was standing over me, peering down and smiling at me like an old friend. The smile emanated warmth and happiness, a smile that could've soothed any savage spirit. His brown eyes glinted at me. He was wearing an all-white ensemble, white shirt, white tie, white jacket, white pants and white shoes. The only exception to this outfit was a black rose head, neatly placed along his left pec. His clothes were impeccably fresh and clean, with not one speck of dirt or streak of grass.

"Come on, there is much to do and all that."

I got up slowly and methodically, the grass sighing as it returned to its original shape. I felt an ache, an instant longing to return to my position. I wobbled on my feet, my knees turning to jelly. I had grown unaccustomed to standing. I reached out a hand to the man's shoulder, hoping to steady myself.

My hand passed through him.

Surprised, my arm and then the rest of my body followed through his intangible form. I hit the ground without bothering to brace for the impact. It felt like landing on a cloud.

The man laughed. "My apologies Mr. Quinn." He held out his hand for me to grab. I stared at him. He laughed again. "Come now, I won't bite." I reached for it, fully expecting a repeat of my earlier action.

His grip was solid and firm.

He pulled with minimal effort and I arose easily and smoothly. He continued smiling widely and took a step back, giving me space. I looked over my hand for a moment, confused. Then I looked over to him. Still smiling, but not in a creepy way. He seemed genuinely in a good mood.

"Who are you?" I asked. My voice came out soft and a little hoarse.

"Depends on your perspective really," he replied. I waited for him to continue, but he just kept quiet, smiling.

"A-are you God?"

He laughed again. It wasn't patronizing in any way. He laughed like I had told him a joke. "Both yes and no. I am a god and also a servant. All powerful and powerless. You are too, in your own way."

Huh?

"I'm a god?"

"Well not yet anyway. You'll reach your potential in due time."

His smile was becoming infectious. I felt a little tug of a grin at my lips. The bizarreness of the situation prevented it from spreading further however.

"What's that supposed to mean? That I'll grow into a deity?"

He shook his head. "Not in the way you're thinking of it. You won't ride a chariot across the sky. You won't wield a giant hammer. You won't wear a white robe and a long beard, live in the clouds and strike creatures down with plagues. Those are all wildly inaccurate. True divinity is not omnipotence, but understanding and experience."

I thought about this for a moment. I had never been religious really, but I had always pictured a deity to be like Jehovah, all powerful, all knowing. Maybe even something like the Greek gods, emotional and powerful. Guess that throws that out the window. What was left? "So, Buddhism is the right religion then? Attain enlightenment through meditation and focus?"

His smile grew wider. "There is no such thing as a right religion Mr. Quinn. Each is right, in their own way."

"What? But you just said that. . . . What?" This wasn't making too much sense to me. "Shouldn't there be one truth, one correct set of facts? How can a monotheistic and a polytheistic belief system both be correct at the same time?"

"Think of it like a puzzle. Each religion is a piece, one fraction of the whole picture. All the modern religions of your time, they are all hinting at the greater truth. Even the religions that have long since died off with the passing of time and faded away into obscurity or the religions that are still seeds in the minds of men, they all play a part."

"So even Pastafarianism is correct?"

"Indeed."

I nodded my head emptily, mulling this over. "I still don't see how that is all possible. It just seems too much like doublethink to me."

"I wasn't expecting you to understand Mr. Quinn," he chuckled. "But you will in time." He glanced off into the distance before looking back at me. "Now for the reason you're here."

"I'm dead right?" I blurted out before he could continue. "That's why I'm here, wherever 'here' is?"

"Correct. You've passed on, gone to the great beyond, kicked the bucket, bitten the dust, whichever euphemism you prefer." He sounded like we were talking about something as trivial as the weather. How many people has this man told this news to? Millions? Billions?

I rubbed my eyes. I felt my warm skin, the bristle of my eyebrows, the delicate strands of my eyelashes. I breathed out, feeling my lungs deflate. It felt real. It felt alive. "I… can't believe this."

"Why not Mr. Quinn?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Did you think you would live forever, that you were immortal?"

"No it's not that. I just. . . ."

"Just what?" Amusement was written all over his face. I felt like a kindergarten student being taught a simple lesson by the teacher.

I couldn't quite articulate my response. What was my response anyway? "I just didn't think I would die so young, so unfulfilled. I didn't even get to enjoy being an adult! I'm only nineteen!"

"These things happen Mr. Quinn. They are an unfortunate part of reality. People with infinite potential, tragically cut off from greatness through poor choice or circumstance. Life isn't fair, as the old adage goes and expecting it to be will only lead to disappointment."

I turned and stared out over the horizon for a long time, breathing slowly in and out. We were standing in a field of bright green grass which extended on indefinitely ahead. There were no trees or shrubs, no distinguishing landmarks whatsoever. There weren't any weeds either, just perfectly symmetrical grass. A real Children of the Corn like appearance, minus the corn and homicidal children. I couldn't see any light source, but the whole expanse was illuminated perfectly. A sparrow appeared before me, hovering at eye level and chirping happily. I gently brushed it aside. It flew away, back to an unknown location.

So that was it then. I'm dead. No ifs ands or buts. Always thought I'd go out in a more… planned manner. Laying in a soft bed, surrounded by friends and family, going gently into that good night. That kind of stuff. A good, respectable death. Not dying alone, turned into a pile of meat from clumsiness. That death was reserved for drunk drivers, ones who didn't care about safety. And that was how I died. What a shitty end.

And how did my parents take it? Did my mom cry? Did my dad have to sort through my things? How did they react to their only son being reduced to a red smear on the ground? And my friends too. How did they take my death? I didn't even get to say goodbye! I never told them how much they really mean to me, how much I treasured their presence. And I could only truly appreciate it now because it was gone.

"How did everyone take it?" I asked the man, not bothering to look at him. I couldn't bring myself to say 'my death'.

"As one might expect them to. Confusion, grief, depression. Standard fare really," he said in an oddly nonchalant cadence. He walked over to my side and faced the same direction. "Your funeral was a small event in an unremarkable graveyard. It was a closed casket, naturally. Only twelve people attended."

"Twelve people. . . ." My voice trailed off. I could understand the closed casket. Hadn't really expected there to be much to bury honestly. But twelve people? Were those the only people that cared about me? The only ones who were bothered enough to take some time out of their day to pay their respects? Had I really called that many people friends, only to have that many express sympathy?

"Yes. If it makes you feel better, many grieved but not for long. You had withdrawn somewhat from their lives and they had grown less attached. Less pain involved for everyone."

"That doesn't really make me feel better," I said hollowly. I knew it was better that no one grieved for long. I was never the one to cry at funerals, to hang on to people after they passed. I preferred to remember them as they were than lament their passing. It was better this way; that no one had cared too much. But still, a little grievance would've been appreciated! More than 12 people attending my funeral! Maybe a wake with too much alcohol! I guess I'm a hypocrite.

"My condolences," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. He squeezed reassuringly before withdrawing. We stood in silence for a moment. Or maybe an hour, I couldn't really tell. The bird's melody had faded somewhat, but was still audible. The atmosphere was still intoxicatingly jubilant and I couldn't successfully feel depressed for long. It didn't really take away the inner pain, though.

"Do you have any other questions?" he asked after an imperceptible amount of time. "We must get to the task at hand."

I thought about it for a while. Or maybe not at all. "What's your name?"

He chuckled loudly. "That is your question Mr. Quinn? Not perhaps, the meaning of life or future events? Or maybe the origins of your universe?"

"Well, judging by your earlier explanations of my nature, I don't think I'd understand your other explanations on huge questions. Although I'd be willing to listen if you would be bothered to do so." I was now pretty curious what he meant by my universe. Was there more than one?

His smile grew wider. "Very astute Mr. Quinn. You learn quite fast. I believe I'll pass on the 'huge' questions if you don't mind. You are not mature enough to understand them anyways." Okay. That was cryptic. More of that "you'll understand in time" stuff. Gotta love it. "I have many names. Some you are not physically able to utter, others that would take you years to pronounce and multitudes never before uttered by human lips. I am always different to every person. Each a new location, a new face, a new personality. So tell me Mr. Quinn, what do you believe my name is?"

I thought about his impeccably fresh white suit, his wide endearing smile, and his polite and intelligent personality. One name came to mind immediately. "Gatsby."

He chuckled again, slapping me on the back. "Very appropriate. I believe it fits rather well. Will that be all for questions then?"

"I think so."

"Excellent!" Gatsby exclaimed, clasping his hands together happily. Did this guy ever frown? "Then we can continue." Without warning, he began walking away, brushing past my shoulder. I hesitated for a moment before following.

"So, what is this task you, uh, hinted at?" I asked. I noticed that, far in the horizon, a bright golden light was shining like a star's eclipse. It was a radiant golden color, like an eternal firework.

"Ah Mr. Quinn, I thought you said you had no more questions!" he said, smiling. He had placed his hands in his pockets and now gave me the impression of a model ready for a photo shoot.

"Well, I think you can oblige me on this one."

"I do believe that's fair. You're going somewhere familiar." I waited for him to continue but he didn't say anymore. The light on the horizon was now a mountain of spectacle.

"And where might that be?" His ambiguous responses were starting to bother me. Can't he tell me anything that makes sense?

"Another place. Another time. Another universe," he replied, looking ahead past the horizon. The light was sweeping towards us, faster and faster.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh you'll find out in time. I'll always be there, guiding you in places, keeping watch. You're going to be a very important man," he said, looking and smiling at me. I noticed his eyes were now a bright blue color. "But I can't interfere too much. My influence only goes so far. You'll need to be brave and strong against the coming storm."

I stopped. Gatsby kept walking. "Can't you give me a straight answer?"

He stopped and turned to face me, smile still spread wide on his face. The light was now an ocean shining behind him, consuming everything except him in its wake. I couldn't look straight at him anymore. He was an outline now, already ebbing away in the spectacle. "I've said too much already." He disappeared, lost soundlessly in a sea of brilliant light.

"Good luck," I heard him say before the light engulfed me.

**11:72, GST**

I woke with a start, eyes shooting open and gasping like a dying man. I wasn't in that field anymore. I was sitting upright on a hard, uncomfortable surface. My arms were crossed in front of my chest. I unfolded them and grabbed my right arm with my left hand. My hand didn't go through my arm. It was solid. I could feel my heartbeat. I was alive. I inhaled deeply, feeling the sweet air again.

"You okay kid?"

I looked up quickly, startled. A middle aged, balding man was sitting across from me, staring at me with a look of shock and concern on his face.

"Y-y-yeah fine. J-just a, uh . . . a bad dream," I mumbled, fighting over the words.

The man looked unconvinced. "You sure? All you've done the whole flight is lie there like a corpse and then you start gasping for air. You looked like you were about to fucking die for a second."

"I'm fine, just a bad dr-" A sharp pain in my head stopped me from completing my sentence. I shot a hand to the offending location, just behind my left temple. It felt like something was digging inside my head.

"What's wrong kid?"

"My head, ugh, feels like someone hit it with an axe."

The man nodded his head, seeming to understand. "It's your translator. They have to put the thing in a place called Broca's area... or something like that. I don't know, it's science shit. Takes a little while to get used to it is all. You'll get over it in a day or two."

"I hope so." The pain had shifted into a dull, manageable throbbing. I massaged my head slowly. When did they invent machine translators for your brain? And why the hell do I have one in my head?

"You sure you're alright? You're acting pretty goddamn weird."

I cleared my throat. "Yeah I'm good, really." I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but my lips just twitched weakly.

The man looked like he wanted to press me further, but he just nodded at me and looked away. I gazed over and saw that there were twenty odd other people, all sitting in a row of seats and cramped together. We were in a small steel gray compartment with a very minimum space allowance. I couldn't stretch my legs without kicking the guy in front of me. A couple pipes snaked across the roof of the compartment, serving some unknown purpose. A wall at the end of the compartment was made of some sort of glass material, covered on the outside by steel doors. Another door to my right sat at the other end of the aisle, leading to somewhere else. The best way I could think of to describe it was like a futuristic spaceship.

Everyone was talking. It was hard to discern individual conversations over the general noise but I managed to catch some snippets.

"I can't wait to see it! How long till we get there?" a little eight-year-old girl next to me asked, tugging what I assume to be her mother's sleeve.

"Soon darling, relax." The mother ran a hand through her daughter's long black hair. "The pilot said any minute now."

Where were they talking about? I leaned in closer, hoping to hear more, but they were already talking about something else. So this was some kind of transport and we were heading off to an unknown location and due to arrive any minute. Not bad information for listening in to a conversation for five seconds. Detective Quinn, esquire.

"So is it true?" a guy a few seats down from me about my age asked his friend next to him. The guy had a severely pockmarked face and short black hair. "They can't eat the same food as us?"

"Yeah man," the friend replied with a thick Southern accent, "if they eat any human shit, they die. Same applies to us. I once saw a guy take a bite of some of their food, on a dare. Fucker started twitching and puking all over the goddamn place, foam running out of his mouth and nose. What a mess."

Whoa, what the hell is this? Are they talking about a different species? With food inedible to humans? What the hell kinda place are we going to?

"God, it feels so good finally leaving Earth," a twenty something lady with fake blond hair told her friend, another twenty something girl with bright red hair. "I finally get to go out there, you know. See the universe. Meet new people."

"Oh, I know what you mean by meeting the people," her friend said suggestively, lightly jabbing the woman with her elbow. The woman's cheeks glowed red and she giggled. "But yeah I agree. The vids just don't cut it. My boyfriend comes back from his tour of the Traverse soon. We were going to hit this club called Flux when we arrive. Wanna come?" The woman agreed and the two begin talking in high pitched bursts, planning their evening.

What the fuck? We're not on Earth anymore? My heart started beating faster and my breathing got heavier. My mind was racing with this news. I could literally be anywhere in the galaxy right now! Hell, I could even be in another galaxy! Whatever this universe is, it obviously has space travel and alien life forms. Was it like a Star Wars universe with laser swords and little green midgets? Or was it like Star Trek with one color shirts and hot alien babes? Would they even look like us? What if they walked on all fours or one leg? What if they had wings? What if they talked through telekinesis?

I stopped my frantic thinking and mentally replayed what I've learned. I'm on a shuttle of some kind, about to arrive at an unknown location somewhere in space with twenty other people. On it, there is going to be an alien species (maybe more?) with food inedible to humans. I ran a hand through my hair. Jesus Christ, what have I gotten myself into? I should've never gotten out of bed today.

"So kid, what do you plan on doing once we get off of here?" I realized the question was directed towards me when I looked over and saw the balding man gazing at me. The guy was just trying to make conversation.

Shit, what do I say? "Uh, not sure really, hadn't thought about it," I replied, not making eye contact.

"C'mon kid, no one flies halfway across the galaxy for no reason. You must have one. Is it for work? Family?" This guy needed to mind his own goddamn business.

"No, it's not that. I just, uh . . . wanted to see the sights, you know. Explore. What about you?"

"Mining. Trying to get rich mining eezo on dying stars." The guy shrugged, like his job was just as common as walking a dog. They mine stars in this universe? "Oh and by the way kid," he said, leaning in closer, "everyone knows that when someone says they want to explore the galaxy, they really mean they want to try some blue azure." His eyes glinted with a hint of deviousness.

"What?" I asked. "The hell are you talking about?"

The guy laughed. "Anyone ever tell you you're a terrible liar kid? It's okay, don't worry about it. I'm not judging you, we all have that same urge. I've had some myself you know. It'll change your life." He gave me a knowing wink.

"Whatever you say buddy." I looked away, trying to tell the guy I didn't want to talk anymore. He took the hint and stayed quiet, smiling smugly to himself. What the hell was he talking about? Blue azure? What was that? Some kind of... food? The way the guy talked about it made it sound like it was some sort of taboo thing. Like a sex thing or something. And yet… I couldn't help but think that I had heard about it before. It sounded familiar.

Wait, I recognize some of those words that lady said too. Vids are . . . videos? Maybe? And a few other words. Traverse. Flux. I've definitely heard those words before, a fact that surprised me. How the hell should I have heard of these places in a different universe? Think! Where have you heard these words before? The answer was just on the tip of my tongue, maddeningly close. Just before clarity hit me the intercom buzzed to life and a deep voice sounded throughout the tiny space.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived!" he said, sounding pleased. The doors covering the window on the side of the shuttle slid back, revealing a pink expanse. The people immediately rised and jumped to the window, eager to gaze out, chattering excitedly. "Welcome… to the Citadel!"

The Citadel? It dawned on me then, realization hitting me like a slap to the face. Vids. The Traverse. Eezo. Flux. Azure. The Citadel. I knew where I was. I got up and not so gracefully began to push my way forward to the window, desperate to see out of it. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening. It can't be real, it _can't_ be. No way in hell was I actually where I thought I was. As I made my way through, I could hear people whispering excitedly.

"Is it there?"

"Do you see it?

"Where is it?"

I finally pushed forward through the last person, arriving at the window. A shoal of pinkish space dust greeted me, flying past at high speeds. I scanned the horizon desperately but all I saw was the dust. Where the hell is the Citadel? Suddenly, the clouds parted and light flooded the apartment, forcing everybody to squint. But I saw it. Very far away yet still enormously huge.

The Citadel.

There was no doubt anymore. I was in the Mass Effect universe.


	2. Surfacing

Chapter Two:

Surfacing

"Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide

No escape from reality."

_Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen_

**12:06, GST**

I was going to faint. My legs wobbled uncontrollably and I teetered on the brink of collapsing. My stomach churned and contracted, threatening to release its payload. My vision swam with multicolored dots and grew fuzzy. My jaw fully dropped. This was a dream, it had to be. Everything that has happened to me was all an elaborate dream and any second now I'd wake up in my bed, the memory of this dream already fading. God, I wanted that to be true.

But the huge space station in front of me wiped out any possibility of denial. This was real. Everything I had seen on my TV screen was now right in front of me, tangible and alive. It was absolutely mind-blowing. The Citadel, the shuttle I was on, the people standing next to me. All real. Living, breathing, with thoughts and emotions and feelings.

And holy fuck, the Citade wasl amazing. It looked exactly like it does in the game but even more beautiful. The game's graphics didn't do this thing any justice. It was fucking _huge_, even from the distance that we were at. The arms were open, giving everyone a view of its underbelly. Each arm had bright orange lights scattered all down its length, some long stripes or different sized dots. It was fully realized, an actual city filled with billions of people. Human and alien.

"Damn!"

"It's huge!"

"Mommy, did the Protheans really build that, like the relays?" the little 8 year old girl with black hair asked her mom.

"Yes dear, it's amazing isn't it?"

"Yeah!" the girl replied in a childlike tone of wonder and awe.

I opened my mouth to correct them, to tell them the Protheans didn't actually build the Citadel, but I quickly shut it. What was I thinking; I couldn't tell them that the Reapers created everything! Who knows what that would do? They'd think I was crazy and even if they believed me, knowing this could screw up canon in some way. If canon was going to followed, that is. So I just bit my tongue and continued gazing at the massive space station as we flew towards it.

Wait. Reapers. Do they exist in this universe? Everything else seemed to be in place, why wouldn't they be? Well fuck, that's bad. Like really, really bad. I just got dropped into a universe with giant space squids that wipe out all sentient life every fifty thousand years and are on the brink of returning to doom my entire race. Terrific. This day just gets better and better.

A ship overtook us. No, not a ship. A dreadnought. A behemoth. The thing was enormous, easily hundreds of times larger than our meager shuttle. It must have had thousands people needed to operate it. We might as well have been flying a tin can. It had what looked like a large fin at the back, with two long arms jutting out of the top and bottom at perfect 90 degree angles. A gigantic blue opening, in the shape of an oval, stuck out of the front of the ship. It looked like an exhaust shaft. Or the barrel of a really big gun. Orange lights snaked along the ship, under the exhaust/gun and along the fin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, passing us now is the asari dreadnought The Destiny Ascension, flagship of the Citadel Fleet." The pilot's voice rang out through the compartment. He sounded just slightly less awed as we were. "It has the power of almost the entire asari fleet combined. Any fleet that attacks the Citadel will have to deal with that bad boy."

Everyone on board was gaping and talking in disbelief and awe. I couldn't blame them. I'd seen all this stuff plenty of times before and I still had to stare at the power of the Destiny Ascension and the majesty of the Citadel. It was all too surreal to me.

"I'm sorry to interrupt again, but I must ask that all passengers return to their seats and fasten their seat harnesses while we dock," the pilot instructed. Many grumbled and complained, but everyone obeyed and moved back to their specified seats. I complied and sat down. I found the harnesses attached to the bottom corners of my seat and pulled them over me, fastening them with a click. They fastened over my chest and under my armpits but otherwise left my arms and legs mobile. I sat back in my seat, head against the wall. A lot had just happened to me in a very short time. I just needed somewhere quiet to think all this through.

Unfortunately for me, everyone else did not have this mindset. They were still talking incessantly, excitement running through them like a fever. The little eight year old girl was practically bursting out of her seat, her mother trying to calm her down. The guy with the pockmarked face and his Southern friend were making a bet on how many aliens they could sleep with in a week. The girl with red hair was typing away on her omnitool, saying something about contacting her boyfriend. The balding man in front of me was still staring out the window even though the view of the Citadel had passed, face solemn.

I closed my eyes, trying to drown out the noise around me. I failed miserably and instead just listened to the conversations around me for the next ten minutes. After a while, the shuttle rocked slightly, jostling my head, and then stopped. I heard the thrusters wind down and a slight hiss as the shuttle began equalizing with the outside atmosphere. We must be docked.

"You may now unfasten your harnesses. Please retrieve any belongings or bags before leaving. And, as always, enjoy your time on the Citadel!"

The door to my right slid open. Everyone unbuckled themselves immediately and stood up, reaching up towards an even smaller compartment on each side that resembled the baggage holders on commercial airplanes. The doors had slid open, revealing a multitude of bags and purses, which were seized hungrily. There were too many people blocking the aisle for me to stand so I unbuckled myself and just sat in my seat and waited impatiently for the herd to clear out. After half a minute, it was clear enough for me to stand. I went to exit but paused, wanting to check the overhead compartment for luggage. _What luggage would that be, _I reminded myself. Feeling somewhat stupid, I continue to leave and was just out the door when I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey kid, this yours?" I turned around to find the balding man holding a small, beige bag in his hand.

"It shouldn't be, no."

"Well, it has the name Michael Quinn on it. That you?"

"Yeah, that's me," I said, suddenly very suspicious. I stepped back into the compartment and took the bag from the man's hands. The bag was incredibly light. It weighed almost nothing in my hands. Sure enough, my name was stenciled across the bag in black marker. In my handwriting. I almost dropped the bag and ran, but managed to keep my face steady and my voice calm as I smiled at the man. "Thanks."

"You sure are a weird kid. Enjoy the azure," he said, pushing past me. My face turned bright red from embarrassment.

Not wanting to stay here, I headed out the door and down a short metal hallway and took a right. I saw an opening ahead and went for it. Some other passengers were still around, mingling or waiting for someone. I moved past them and out the terminal door. I felt like I was exiting an airplane.

I stepped out onto the Citadel. And my jaw immediately dropped.

I was on the Presidium. A huge artificial lake loomed out in front of me. The water was crystal clear, a deep blue that radiated pristineness. Jet streams of water, each in synchronizing rows and orders, were spraying constantly into the air. Bridges crossed over this lake in numerous different directions, a complicated hive of paths. The ceiling, although obviously fake and two dimensional, had a beautiful electronic image of a blue sky mixed with clouds. Flying cars moved through the air high above in orderly fashion.

Let me repeat that.

Flying fucking cars were moving above me, each moving and turning on nothing with ease. Flying. Fucking. Cars. The most amazing part was the sheer size of the place. It stretched on for miles, way past my range of vision. You probably could've put every human on Earth in here and still have room to spare. I was starting to understand how this place could hold so many billions of people and still function.

And holy shit was there aliens. Every Council race in the game was here walking around casually, not a care in the world. Asari, turians, salarians, hanar you name it. I even saw a couple krogan and elcor. It was incredibly surreal. They were just acting normal, doing everyday behavior. Two asari were sitting on a bench overlooking the lake, chatting idly. A human woman and a male salarian were looking out over a railing around the lake, holding hands. A male turian with red face paint walked by me, talon pressed into an earpiece, talking indiscriminately to someone. A krogan was leaning against a wall twenty feet from me, glaring at everyone who walked by with a sour expression on his face.

"Excuse me sir," a flanging voice behind me called. I turned to see a turian in blue body armor standing in front of me. "I'm gonna have to ask you to move, we need to keep this space clear for other arrivals." His face and tone, from what I could read of it, looked and sounded absolutely bored.

"I uh. . . ." I couldn't get the words to come out. Standing in front of me was an honest to god turian. I could see the fringe, the mandibles, the colony markings, everything. An alien that I thought only a few hours ago wasn't real was standing in front of me, alive and real. Jesus Christ, I'm in way over my head.

"Is there a problem sir?" he asked, an annoyed undertone entering his voice.

"No, sorry," I said, immediately shuffling away. God, I must look like just another dumb human tourist here from Earth. And yet I couldn't help myself. This place was truly a cultural marvel. Even in the game, it was pictured as a symbol for intergalactic achievement and cooperation. And to see all these aliens walking around, plain as day, was also marveling. Growing up with only other humans makes you rather used to seeing only them. But here, it was a cultural melting pot. Seeing another alien was just as common as brushing your teeth. The Citadel had to be the greatest achievement in this universe, by far.

I made my way over to a secluded bench, a good distance away from the crowds milling around. I needed to sort things through, adjust my mind to these new settings. I sat down, dropping my bag on the ground and burying my face in my hands.

I had died. I had already accepted that but the fact that I had actually died still bothered me. It had happened so fast. One minute I was driving along the road, alive as could be, the next I was a pile of bones and meat in a wreck. Life had been taken from me with a metaphorical snap of the fingers, like turning off a light. It was amazing how invincible everyone considered themselves until they actually confronted their own mortality face to face. I certainly never thought I'd go like that, quick and bloody, with no last goodbyes. It scared me to think that we all live this fragile existence, fighting to survive our brief time alive until we wither and perish away. Macbeth's little famous soliloquy came to mind.

But hey! Turns out you don't just disappear into a black void when you die. You go to this peaceful foresty dream land, with singing birds and sunshine and flowers and happy feelings for forever and ever and ever, inhabited by a man in a white suit. Neat huh?

Gatsby. That was kind of a cliché rendition of a spiritual being if I'd ever seen one. The scene would've been even more complete if Morgan Freeman had been the one to meet me. Who the hell was that guy anyway? He hadn't given me a straight answer as to who he was or what his motives were. What had he told me he was? A god and a servant? Powerful and powerless? He even told me I was like him, in a certain way. What is that supposed to mean? I'm a god? And a servant? This whole situation played out like an over advertised Hollywood movie, which tried to use vague explanations and deep meanings to seem cool (*cough*Inception*cough*).

Two questions nagged at my mind. Firstly, why me? Why am I here in Mass Effect? What was I chosen for, my good looks? I couldn't shoot a gun, I wasn't particularly good with tech, and I certainly didn't have biotics. The most notable thing about me was that I did some wrestling in high school and even then I wasn't very good at it. I was a nobody, a nameless schmuk that blended in with the mold. No one special. I assume that my purpose was to help fight the Reapers. What other purpose could it be? Was I supposed to join up with Shepard and kick ass across the galaxy? I needed more answers.

And second, why here? Why was I in this universe? From the games, it seemed that this universe did just fine with Shepard around. Sure, billions of people died, that was unavoidable when fighting the Reapers. But organics ultimately would win in the end right? Shepard would fire that big microphone Deus Ex Machina contraption with starbrat ranting at him/her and BAM, no more Reapers. What could I possibly contribute to it? I was about as useful in that situation as a wet match in a dark cave.

I glanced down at the bag at my feet. It looked innocent enough, a dull beige color with one handle and a single zipper running across the body. It weighed about as much as air. I picked it up and put it on my lap. It had my handwriting though, which creeped me out to no end. Though I shouldn't be surprised. If Gatsby could send me to another dimension, he could easily forge my handwriting. What could be in it? I shook it once, briefly. Something bounced against the material. I grabbed the zipper, prepared to open it. I suddenly got very nervous about what I would find in it. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty. It could be anything really.

Cautiously and with definite care, I unzipped the bag. Nothing jumped out at me, much to my relief. Don't know what I would have done if some freaky inter-dimensional creature jumped out of here. I felt inside, hand groping around until I felt a small, thin rectangular object. I pulled it out. It was a datapad. Still cautious, I pressed a button and it turned on. The screen was a purplish color, with yellow text. On it was a single file titled "Open Me". I obliged.

_Dear Mr. Quinn,_

_If you are reading this, then you've already started your journey. I'm sure you've recognized your surroundings by now. Yes, this is the universe you know so well, right down to the atom. You may consider this just a world from a video game, but this universe is just as real as the one you were born in. No respawning at checkpoints I'm afraid. And you might have also been wondering about those nasty beings called the Reapers. Truly disgusting creatures. Don't worry about them. The year is 2180 which means they won't be coming for quite a while. But you have time to prepare. Make your way to C-Sec Academy. Things have already been arranged for your arrival. Train. Learn. Prepare. Your destiny awaits you._

_Gatsby_

I put the datapad down, not quite believing what I just read. It's 2180? Mass Effect 1 takes place in 2183! That's three years of waiting! Am I just supposed to sit around with my thumb up my ass for three goddamn years? I reread the message. No, I'm supposed to go to C-Sec and get a job there. It's been "arranged" for me, whatever the fuck that means. What will working at C-Sec do? Sure, it means I won't get devoured by husks right away because I'll have some form of combat training. But what then? If I really want to help with the fight against the Reapers, I need to be on the Normandy with Shepard. How is working at C-Sec going to get me there? I won't have any opportunity to meet Shepard and convince him/her to let me join his/her motley crew of heroes. Unless. . . .

Of course. Garrus Vakarian.

He works in C-Sec. And in three years time, he'll be the one in charge of investigating Saren. He and Shepard will meet and then it's off to save the galaxy with explosions and awkward Prothean researchers! Probably. If I remember right, it is possible to reject Garrus' offer and not recruit him. Hell, this is real life, not a video game. Events don't have to follow certain rules. Shepard might not even need to talk to Garrus at all. Then I'll be pretty screwed over. But it's realistically the best shot I have to get in good with Shepard.

Wait, what am I thinking? Am I honestly plotting how I'm going to join an elite soldier's ragtag team to save the galaxy from a rogue agent and eternal death machines? Am I fucking crazy? I'm not a hero. I'm not a soldier. Hell, I probably couldn't even shoot someone if I wanted to. The prospect has never exactly thrilled me before. In a real combat zone, with bullets and blood and death, I'd probably end up pissing my pants in a ditch somewhere. If I didn't just get picked off right away or shoot myself in the foot first. I'm not the right kind of person for this job.

And yet someone else thinks I am. Gatsby, whatever he is, seems convinced I'm the right one for the job. Why else would he have picked me over everyone else? The man was basically a god. He was probably omniscient, if not close to it. He held all the cards here. Who was I to question him?

And these people need a savior. Sitting around them, listening to their conversations aboard the shuttle and the Presidium, made me see them as more than just characters from a video game. These were real people. Trillions of people, human and not, with wants, desires, dreams, and goals. They all laughed, cried, sang and fought. Who would help save them if I didn't? No, this was much bigger than me, much more important. It was the fate of all sentient life in the galaxy. I'd have to be one selfish bastard to refuse to help all those people because I thought I wasn't up to the task.

I stood up, purpose defined and in sight. Now just to find C-Sec headquarters. I craned my head, looking around for any indication of where my destination would be. I didn't see any, just more people and flashing advertisements. It was then I realized I had no idea at all of where I was. This place was so enormous I could easily wonder through it for days and still never find it. I needed directions. But who could give them to me?

Then I saw it. To my left, about a hundred feet away next to a wall, stood a blue holographic figure next to a keeper and a turian. An Avina terminal. Perfect. I jogged over to the terminal. The keeper was standing, uh, squatting . . . sitting . . . the keeper was by a panel on the wall, fiddling with it with its four oddly jointed hands .The turian was talking to Avina as I arrived. It sounded like the conversation was nearly over.

". . . take a right and you will be at your destination. Are you satisfied with this answer?" the hologram asked politely, eyes staring wide. Goddamn, they needed to program these things to blink or something, they were creepy as hell.

"Yes, thank you." He nodded and turned away from Avina, bumping into me in the process. He cried out in surprise and went to apologize before he actually saw me. His eyes narrowed, sizing me up. He didn't look too happy to see me. I really hope he doesn't want to fight, the guy had at least six inches on me. There was a tense moment of silence. "Watch where you're going, human," he hissed, bumping my shoulder roughly as he pushed past me.

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to start a fight and I was honestly pretty intimidated by him. Turians looked a lot more predatory and deadly up close. If he didn't want to kill me, I certainly wasn't going to give him incentive to.

I stepped up to the hologram. It just stood there; eyes still wide open, not acknowledging my existence. Don't these things usually talk to you right away? I waved a hand in front of its face. No response. How did that guy get it to talk? I heard giggling behind me and turned to see two asari standing a ways back from me. They were watching my progress with infinite amusement. I swear I thought I heard a "stupid human" come from their direction. I blushed and turned back to the hologram. What do I do?

"Uh, hello?"

"Hello!" the thing said boisterously, making me visibly jump. I heard another round of laughter behind me. This thing was loud! "My name is Avina. Allow me to be your guide. How may I help you today?"

"I, um, could you please give me directions to C-Sec Academy?" I asked, still flustered. The thing had nearly given me a heart attack. I was going to make it a point to try and avoid these things as much as possible.

"Certainly. Please wait as I process your request." The hologram grew silent. It didn't move or change expression. It still stared forward and through my soul with its wide eyes. Creepy. I glanced over to the keeper, who was still working diligently doing whatever it was that keepers did. The things had always looked odd to me in the game and now in real life they looked like something from a cheap horror movie. The Reapers sure had a knack for developing scary things.

"I am unable to forward the coordinates to C-Sec Academy to your omnitool because it appears you do not own one." Shocker. "Would you like to purchase one? There are several stores nearby which specialize in-"

"No, no, thank you," I cut in quickly. "Could you just verbally give me the, uh, coordinates?" Talking to this thing was like pulling teeth.

"Certainly. C-Sec Academy is located approximately 4.7 standard miles to the left of your current location. Simply follow this path and you should arrive safely at your destination. Will that be all for you today?" It had to forward me directions to walk in a straight line?

"Yes, thanks," I said politely and began to walk away.

I had a lot of walking to do.

**15:59, GST**

A couple of hours later and I finally reached C-Sec. About a mile or so back, I had started seeing giant holographic arrows with C-Sec displayed proudly on it and assumed I was going in the right direction. For all its grandeur and majesty, the Citadel sure had a repetitive design to it. Curving archways and twisting bridges quickly get old. It was still beautiful; I even saw the giant krogan statue from the first Mass Effect on my way here. But there's only so many times you can see another bridge or another electronic door before it all started to look the same.

But I digress. C-Sec Academy was located just where it had been in the original Mass Effect, just below and in front of the human embassies. As I approached, I saw the familiar sight of the twin stairs, both leading off to different areas. To the right it went to the human ambassador's office, Udina, and the left one went to a… bar, if I remember correctly. And Pallin's office. I'm going to have to go there eventually. The thought doesn't give me confidence. An asari receptionist sat behind her desk in between the staircases, typing away at her computer. Another Avina terminal stood in the center of the plaza.

I walked down the twisting ramp to the right. I came out on a little lower level, the walkway narrow. And there it was. C-Sec Academy. The elevator stood in front of me, beckoning me to enter. Completely ordinary looking but huge to me. This would be a big step. A beginning to my whole new life.

I sat down at a nearby bench. Was I ready for this?

A car touched down across from me. Two gruff looking turians got out and opened the back seat. They both pulled out a human. The guy looked like he just lost a serious fight. His face was bruised all to hell and one of his eyes was swollen shut. A big long gash ran down one side of his face. The guy wobbled on his own feet so the two turians had to support the guy on their shoulders. They half carried, half dragged him to the elevator. The doors opened and they went inside, disappearing below. That didn't look good.

Was that the world I was getting into? A world of blood and crime and death? I had watched CSI and Cops growing up, just like everyone else. It was one thing to see something on TV though, and then actually see it in real life. They edited TV. Cut out all the nasty stuff that the kids at home didn't want to see. Cases like the Black Dahlia Murder weren't that rare, they just didn't get reported too much. People don't want to know how close the bad guys can actually get. Didn't want to see all the nasty things people were really capable of. The world is a terrible place.

And why do I want to even get involved in this? I don't belong here. I'm just a ghost, a dead man from an alternate reality. I didn't ask to come here, to die in a car accident. I don't owe anyone here anything. They'll be fine. They have their dashing Commander Shepard to fight the battles they don't want to fight and lose the things they don't want to sacrifice. He's their knight in shining armor, their lamb for the slaughter. The perfect hero. I don't need to be involved in this.

I stood up. You know what? Fuck this. Fuck Gatsby, fuck the powers that be, and fuck this whole goddamn universe. I don't owe it any favors. It can die for all I care. I walked back up the ramp, fury burning bright in my stomach, a powerful inferno. My fists were clenched hard and blood was pounding in my ears. A salarian who had been walking down stepped out of my way, eyes widening in shock. I didn't care. I pushed past him.

Time to figure out how to get the hell out of here.


	3. Paradise City

Chapter Three:

Paradise City

"There'll be no shelter here!

The frontline is everywhere

There'll be no shelter here!

The frontline is everywhere."

_No Shelter, Rage Against the Machine_

**18:89, GST**

Five hours later, not much to my surprise but very much to my chagrin, I was still on the Citadel. The whole place was like a chromium jungle. Each hallway lead to another identical hallway which lead to another identical hallway and on and on and on. So for the past couple hours, I've been stomping around the Presidium, probably looking like a freak with my twenty first century clothes and pissed off demeanor. A wide circle was always cut for me in a crowd and I much preferred it that way.

I had no idea what I was doing either. It's not like I was going to find Gatsby in some café, having some tea and cookies with that happy goddamn face of his. That'd be way too convenient, given my run of luck as of late. He's probably standing over in some parallel dimension, watching my progress at every moment, the bastard. He can get me out of here at any moment; probably whisk me back to my old life back on Earth with a snap of his fingers. I've never wanted to commit deicide more in my entire life.

My pathetic journey did have one positive effect on me, if it could be called that. I wasn't as furious as I had been at C-Sec. Walking around and spending my energy on non-violent things had taken a lot of the fight out of me. I was still righteously pissed off at Gatsby, but my anger was now somewhat caged inside me. I wasn't going to lash out at anyone who talked to me. Now, all I could muster feeling was a heavy depression and a begrudging acceptance.

And, to top off this whole clusterfuck of a situation, I didn't have any money whatsoever. Zip, zilch, nada. I didn't have any convenient twenty first century technology to sell for a bunch of credits either. That would've been too easy. I had left my phone and wallet in my glove compartment and I doubt I'd be able to retrieve them at the moment. And I didn't have an omnitool either, so I had no way of figuring out if my overlord had given me any sort of funds.

So, unable to afford a hotel, I was now residing in a back alleyway somewhere in Kithoi Ward. The only reason I know that's where I was was because I saw an advertisement for some strip club nearby that mentioned my location. The alley was dimly lit and long, much to the cliché. Pipes were jutting out of the wall randomly and I was squatting down next to an exhaust pipe that was spewing heated air into the environment. Even though the lights hadn't changed, the temperature had dropped in the Wards and the exhaust was the only thing keeping me from shivering.

I laid down on the hard metallic surface. It was cold against my skin. I flipped over to my side, trying to find a comfortable position. I failed miserably and instead opted to lie on my back, facing the ceiling. I could hear techno music echoing from a nightclub down the street. A pipe off to my right hissed. Someone walked by outside the alley, footsteps ringing out from the metal floor.

I couldn't help but think of my family, the people I'd never see again. Their faces were looming in front of me, their voices echoing from memory. They were almost tangible. I'd never get to hear my mom laugh, have my first beer with my dad, get into trouble with my friends. They were gone. Forever. The thought should've saddened me but it only added to my fury. Depression was stage four of a tragic accident after all and I was still squarely in stage two, anger. I could cry later. And I definitely would.

"My new home," I said to no one in particular. The pipe I'd been leaning against released a gust of hot air directly in my face. I started coughing violently and rolled away, my face on fire. "What a shithole."

**1:56, GST**

I woke up an unknown time later. I didn't remember falling asleep or even closing my eyes. My back was aching fiercely and my head was still throbbing from my translator. The temperature had risen in my sleep and I was now sweating into my clothes. Altogether not a very good start to the day. I grunted and rolled over, dragging myself to a sitting position. The lights hadn't changed at all in my sleep. What time was it?

I was just moving to stand up when I heard the scream.

Startled, I fell clumsily back on my ass and shuffled awkwardly back next to the exhaust pipe. A glass bottle I hadn't noticed before clinked against the pipe but stayed upright. I wasn't tired in the least anymore.

What the hell was that?

The screaming had stopped or moved out range. Whoever it was, it had been close, maybe just outside the alley. It had sounded like a woman screaming, though I couldn't have identified the species. Human? Asari? It hadn't ended in decrescendo either. It had stopped suddenly, without warning. Like someone had cut it off.

I cautiously peeked out from behind my meager cover.

The alley was empty. Nothing moved, not even a mouse. I couldn't help but think that a tumbleweed would be very appropriate in this situation. The pipes still hummed and hissed and the club was still playing techno music but, other than that, there was silence. Whatever had happened was over. I was about to lean back down when they appeared.

There were four of them. One asari, two male humans and a turian. The asari in question was walking stiffly into the alley, hands in the air, tears visible on her blue face. One of the humans was pointing a pistol at her head from behind, staying a few feet behind her. The other human and the turian were flanking him closely. I couldn't read the turian's face too well, but the flanking human was sporting a sinister smile on his face.

"Here's fine man," the flanking human said. His voice was raspy and sounded like he was choking on phlegm

"Alright," the human with the gun replied, stopping. "Up against the wall."

The asari made an animal-like squeal. "Please I-"

"_I said up against the fucking wall_!" the man bellowed. Jesus, this guy had a temper.

The asari started to cry; she was sniveling as she slowly walked up to the wall and placed her hands flat on the wall. Her back was now to the muggers. It looked like she was in a position to be shaken down by airport security. "P-p-please, I h-have a family."

"Shut up," the guy said, face dead serious. He was still leveling the pistol at her head. "Daniel, search her."

"With pleasure," the other human said, sending a shiver up my spine. Judging from his voice, he sounded like the kind of guy who would sit alone in his apartment and cut dolls all day.

Daniel slinked forward, eyes set on the crying asari like a tiger approaching its prey. The turian simply folded his arms and said nothing, gazing at the scene with a look of almost boredom. The first human was still leveling his gun at the asari. I ducked down quickly.

Shit, shit, shit, what do I do? I can't go over there and help her. It'll be on three on one and I'm too far away and too exposed for a surprise attack. And they have guns! But if I don't do anything, they're almost definitely going to kill her. I need to fucking do something; I can't just let her die! But if I go out there, I'm definitely going to die too. What the hell am I supposed to do!?

I needed to stay hidden, to not interfere. I felt sick for thinking it, but it was the right choice. Don't be the hero, live to fight another day. That asari, she got the butt end of the deal. She was a goner; nothing I can do will fix that. It sucked and if there was anything I could've done to help I would have, but that was the truth. Maybe if I can stay hidden and escape, I can tell C-Sec about this and maybe they'll catch these guys. It won't save the asari, but justice will be done. If only that actually made me feel better.

I poked my head out again, enough to get a view of the muggers. I needed to memorize everything I could about them for the report. The two humans had short brown hair, in a military style. The turian was barefaced but he did have a scar running down his neck just below the plates. All three of them were wearing crimson armor. I noticed that on the other human's right shoulder was a little white mark. I squinted, trying to identify it. After a moment I recognized it as the renegade star symbol with a half circle over the top. Daniel and the turian weren't facing me in a way I could see their shoulders, but I bet they had it too. Looks like a gang symbol, but for what gang?

"My, my, my, look at you," Daniel said as he slowly ran his hands over the asari's body, his voice low. Goddamn, this guy was creepy. "So scared, so defenseless, so . . . curvy." The asari whimpered weakly. Oh God, please don't let this turn into a rape, I really will have to do something if it does.

"Hurry it up you fucking weirdo," the turian said, annoyed. "Patrol will be here any minute."

"Yeah c'mon Daniel, we don't have all day," the human added. Yes, thank you, get him away from her.

"Relax, I'm just appreciating the view," Her grabbed her ass. She cried out and tried to lean away from him. Daniel pulled out a pistol of his own and placed it firmly on her temple. "Shhh, don't make me spoil the moment." He patted down her legs, pistol against her head. After taking longer than he probably should have, he pulled out a little chip from her pocket. "Got her credit chit." He tossed it to the turian.

"Is that all?"

"Yep, she's empty," Daniel answered, stepping back.

"Good, then we're done here," the other human said darkly. He nodded to the turian. "Go ahead forkface."

The turian growled at the insult but pulled out a pistol of his own, walking towards the asari. Oh shit, moment of truth.

"J-j-just let me g-go please, I w-w-won't tell anyone I s-swear," she said, still facing the wall. Please. Please listen.

"Can't take that chance," he said. He flipped the gun in his hands so he was holding the barrel and brought the handle down in a wide savage arc onto the asari's head. Jesus fuck! She didn't cry out, just crumbled to the ground without a word, droplets of purple blood staining the wall. Daniel and the other human didn't react, Daniel actually had a slight look of disappointment on his face. The turian flipped the gun again so he was holding it normally and aimed it at the body.

The turian hesitated. "You're sure this'll get me in? Killing this neutral?" Neutral? That was the name for a non-gang affiliated member, if I remember right. This must be an initiation right for the turian. Blood in, blood out, all that shit. That was how gangs initiated recruits into gangs, by having them commit a crime. It dawned on me then.

The asari is definitely going to die.

"Yeah, now the hurry the fuck up turian," Daniel said. "We don't have all night."

"P-please," the asari moaned on the floor. "My . . . my family."

The turian clicked off the safety on his gun, his mandibles tight on his face.

"I'm sorry for their loss."

He fired.

The shot roared through the alley, loud and huge. It echoed far and fast. I stumbled back, surprised by the noise and the asari's brains painting the floor. I landed on my side, my torso and head in clear view of the muggers. My leg shot out, kicking the bottle resting against the pipe. It shattered between my leg and the pipe, creating a sharp crack and multiple little tinkles of cover blowing noise.

The muggers all turned towards the noise and, subsequently, me. Three killer pairs of eyes rested on my frightened form.

No one moved. I learned right then what it felt like to be a deer in headlights.

"Get him!"

Fuck.

Before I could think or devise any sort of plan of action, my legs acted of their own accord. I scrambled to my feet and then I was running, running as fast as I could down the alley. No time for thought, no time for hesitation. Only time for survival. My feet pounded the ground and I pumped my arms desperately, in a hurried effort for more speed. The alley turned left 15 feet ahead. If I can just make it…

The men behind me opened fire, shots cracking against the calmness of the night. Invisible bullets zoomed past over my shoulder, the wind kicking up at me. I heard multiple loud clangs as bullets tore through the metal floor, leaving ugly red scars in the metal. One of them was aiming for my legs. A pipe ahead of me burst from a round, spewing boiling steam in a cloud ahead of me. I rushed through it without hesitation, gasping slightly as it burned my skin. I just managed to round the corner as a bullet whizzed through the shirt flap on my back where my spine had been a second before.

"Kill him!" a flanging voice called out.

I pushed harder, willing myself to go faster. I could see the end of the alley, about a hundred feet down. The floor dropped away right as it ended, suggesting stairs. I made for it as hard as I could muster.

I was experiencing a primitive sensation in my body, one that arose as our ancestors lived in caves and killed to survive. The fight or flight reflex. Adrenaline filled my veins, coursing through my system. My hearing faded as the rushing of blood and the pounding of my heart drowned out all other noise. Colors became more dilated, more vivid. It was a real life Adrenaline Rush.

I was more than decent at sprints. Playing soccer for a large part of my life had made me a quick runner. You had to be able to be continuously running and start quick sprints at a moment's notice. I hadn't played in a while, but my stamina was still decent. I could go for a long time if need be. But I didn't last a chance in an open space with those guns at my back. I needed to lose these guys as fast as possible while my energy was still high or I'm done for.

"There he is!"

Shots rang out again. I ducked my head instinctively, trying to make myself less of a target. A waist high pipe loomed in front of me, running perpendicular to the alley. I braced and jumped, using one leg to launch to continue my momentum. I almost cleared it. My foot caught on the edge, causing me to stumble. That act saved my life. A stray shot passed over where my head had been, bristling my hair in its wake. I barely caught my balance and ran forward, the exit tantalizingly close. I was going to make it.

That's when a bullet clipped my shoulder.

It wasn't a hit, the bullet only winged me, but it had a bad effect. The sudden force from the impact threw off any balance I had. I stumbled again, ruining any jump I was planning. I fell forward, crying out as a set of stairs went to great me. I landed hard, tumbling uncontrollably down the metal steps. My wounded shoulder kissed the edge of a stair, sending a spasm of pain through my torso. I fell in a heap at the bottom, a mass of pain and fear.

Grasping my shoulder with my hand, I practically jumped up and started sprinting again, slightly off balance from clutching my wound. I couldn't stop, stopping meant death. I didn't feel any pain from falling down the stairs at the moment, but I definitely would tomorrow. If I survived that long.

I was in an area that looked like the area around Chora's Den from the game. Everything was lit a bright blue. Bridges were everywhere, suspended from wires on the ceiling, above and below in multiple directions and angles. From a quick glance, I noted that almost no one was around. Almost no witnesses. Crap. There was a door ahead of me and I headed for it.

Without warning, the door opened and out walked a salarian, looking calm as ever. His face twisted in surprise as I bolted past him, not bothering to completely swerve around him. He stumbled back. The muggers behind me started another salvo. The salarian cried out, a high pitched scream. Something warm sprayed against my back before the doors closed. I didn't want to guess what it was.

Left, right, right, left. I was lost in a maze of corridors and bridges. Each door lead to another bridge and that bridge lead to another door and the cycle repeated over and over again. I knew I was near the entrance to the Presidium but I couldn't manage to find it. I was either extremely unlucky or too excited to look for signs. I was amazed anyone could find their way through here, it all looked the same to me.

I had an advantage over the muggers. They were wearing bulky armor and I was in light civilian clothing. Therefore, I had far less of a burden to carry while running. They were gradually falling further and further behind but very gradually. These guys were very fit and their heavy armor was the only reason they hadn't caught up to me yet. Even so, if I maintained my current pace, I could get away. Theoretically.

I opened yet another bland door frantically and rushed through it. An Avina terminal was standing in the middle of the hallway next to the wall, halfway between the doors. As I ran past her she started talking in that creepy voice.

"Running is discouraged in the Wards. Please slow to a-"

"Fuck off!" I said, barreling ahead. I slammed my hand into the door control and rushed through.

Another hallway, opening to the huge atrium where the interlocking bridges were. It led straight to another door. I was halfway down the bridge when I saw the last thing I wanted to see at the moment. The door control button was red. It was locked. I was at a dead end.

I turned to head back through the door but stopped when I saw the muggers jogging towards me from the hallway I had just left. The two humans were sweating and the turian was panting hard, mandibles spread out. But they were taking their time. They saw I was trapped. They knew I was finished.

"Guns are not permitted o-" The gruff human lifted his gun without turning his head and fired, sending a bullet straight through Avina's head. The hologram flickered and died.

"Nowhere to run now asshole," Daniel called.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

I leaned over the railing. Below was another parallel bridge, about fifteen feet down and seven feet out. And below that was a huge chasm that stretched too far for me to see. I could make the jump. But if I missed, that was a looong way down. Not a good time to have a fear of heights.

"You're fucking dead kid," the turian called out to me.

Then again, the alternative wasn't much better.

I stepped back a couple feet then charged forward. I hopped up, planted a foot on the railing and jumped. For a split second, I hung suspended in the air, not falling, with the muggers shouting behind me. Another shot whizzed past my head. Then gravity grabbed me and pulled down. My stomach clenched as I looked down over certain death. But then I passed over the bridge and got closer to the edge. I had miscalculated my jump. I was going too fast. I hit the bridge hard, trying to roll out of it. But I had landed to close to the railing and slammed my back into it. The air was pushed out of my lungs and I couldn't move for a few precious seconds.

"Holy shit, he jumped!"

"Follow him!" the gruff human shouted.

I clenched my teeth and shot forward, racing towards the door. As I raced through it, I heard a loud crash behind me followed by an even louder crash and an inhuman grunt. But there wasn't a third landing. Looks like I just lost a pursuer. One down, two to go.

I entered a familiar market that was surprisingly crowded for this time of night. Many of the stalls were still open and various races were browsing the wears. And then I saw them. Twin giant glass tubes extending into the ceiling directly in front on the other side of the market. The elevators to the Presidium. I had been going in the right direction after all. With renewed energy, I sprinted towards my exit. A few turned their heads as I ran through but no one tried to stop me.

I weaved through the crowd, trying somewhat not to simply knock over everyone in my way. I could use this crowd to my advantage. The muggers couldn't fire at me without hitting another civilian and I doubt they'd risk the chance. Or at least I'd hoped they would.

"Get down!" the two muggers shouted, sending a flurry of shots into the air. The effect was instant. Everybody started screaming and panicking. But they didn't duck down. Instead they acted like a herd of frightened gazelle and started running away from the location of the shots. Namely, in the direction of the elevators. Where I wanted to be. Not good. If I hadn't been already within a couple of yards of the elevators, I would have been trampled under the mad rush. As it was, I heard some strangled cries as the crowd surged forward, some cut off with fatal precision.

I barely made it to the elevators before the farthest frightened customers opened the right elevator. I dove in, landing on my hands and knees just as a group of salarians and humans bashed the close button on the elevator and the elevator shot up, leaving the other terrified people behind. If I hadn't been so relieved at my own safety, I might have yelled at the guys for leaving those people behind. I still felt bad but at least I survived.

I collapsed in a sitting position, panting uncontrollably. Sweat dripped down my forehead in rivers and my heart felt like it was trying to escape through my throat. My shoulder was pulsing angrily with every heartbeat and my arm was sticky from my blood. Jesus, I'm lucky to be alive.

"What the hell just happened?"

"Did you see those guys?"

"I'm so scared!"

The people on the elevator were all frantically shouting, eyes wide with fear. They were all pointing and waving, each recounting their own tale of what just happened. I could relate. I was probably even more scared knowing that they were actually gunning for me and not simply being terrorists.

"You're hurt," a salarian said. It took me a moment to realize that he was talking to me. He was standing over me, a look of concern on his face.

"J-j-j-j. . . ." The words wouldn't come out for a moment. I cleared my throat. "Just a flesh wound." I was still coursing with adrenaline and though I was exhausted, I couldn't sit still. I stood up, grasping my shoulder in a death grip. The salarian nodded, still concerned, but turning away. There was a definite hole where flesh should be, an imperfect half circle of sensitive nerves. It was bleeding well into my hand. I was going to need stitches. And probably disinfectant too.

The realization sank in. I've just been shot! With a fucking gun! This wasn't nearly as romantic as I'd imagined it to be. It didn't feel as bad as it was portrayed in movies but it still hurt pretty badly. And it burned too. That was what always bugged me about Hollywood action movies; they never mentioned the burn of a bullet. When a gun is fired, the gunpowder ignites and super cooks the bullet before spitting it out. That thing is red hot when it comes out and will burn muscle and nerves if left inside for too long. From what I can remember, guns in Mass Effect use mass accelerators instead of gunpowder, meaning no explosions in the gun, but it still adds that fiery kick to the slug. Lucky me.

The elevator had entered a clear steel gray shaft, which extended up past where I could see from the elevator. The elevator wasn't moving slowly, much to my surprise. It was shooting up at a decent pace, at about seven feet per second from what I could feel. The shaft we were in was enormous and lacked any distinct landmarks. If someone was watching from a camera, it would look like the elevator was moving incredibly slow. There was no way to track the progress from watching the environment. Guess that's why everyone who played the games thought it was slow.

I peered down to the other elevator. It was coming up, albeit about fifty feel below. I could see down through the roof of the elevator to see it was crowded with multiple races, namely human and asari. And my heart sank when I recognized some of the passengers.

"Fuck!" Can't these guys give me a break? They've done far more damage to themselves by following than if they had let me go. They had just murdered an innocent salarian and shot up a market trying to silence me. They really couldn't let things go could they? Then again, they are gangsters. Intelligence isn't exactly a requisite to be hired.

"What is it?" someone asked behind me.

"They're coming up," I said gravely. I could see them, clear as day. The gruff human and the turian were waving their guns at the other passengers, herding them in the back. So Daniel hadn't made the jump. He had been the one who creeped me out the most. The human mugger looked up and spotted me staring at him. He brought his thumb up to his throat and jerked it across roughly. I gulped and stepped back out of sight.

I started pacing the elevator, hands jittery, taking short and quick breaths. Everyone else in the elevator was huddling in a group, talking with a scared tone. A human woman was crying from the shock and a salarian was trying to comfort her. Basically, everyone was on the verge of losing their shit, which I thought was fairly reasonable.

Deep breaths, don't panic. I ran a hand through my hair. Okay, game plan, I need a game plan. Can't just keep running. The Presidium is too open and long. I'll be gunned down right away. I have no idea where I am either so I'll need to be very lucky to find a good hiding spot. And I don't think I could climb one of those trees with my shoulder.

Wait, the Presidium has C-Sec headquarters in it right? That means it's going to have a heavy C-Sec presence. I could find an officer and maybe his presence will ward off them off. Failing that, they could always send the cavalry in and blast these guys into oblivion. They certainly weren't going to get my mercy after killing the asari.

Actually, they have potential hostages now. All those people would make nice shields or bargaining chips. C-Sec can't just shoot them down with those people in the way. And I'm responsible for that! I led these guys straight into that crowded market! And that salarian too, he was just minding his own business. He didn't deserve being turned into a bullet sponge. God, everywhere I go just turn things to shit.

Before I could ponder anything else, the door opened to the Presidium. The path was bottlenecked by two large curving archways. It lead out to the magnificent grand lake beyond. In front of the lake was another Avina terminal and a keeper working at a terminal. And an armored turian C-Sec officer brandishing an Avenger, patrolling.

Jackpot!

"Help! Officer!" I yelled, bolting out of the elevator. I could hear the stampede of the other passengers behind me and I heard their cries as well. The officer turned, mandibles spread in surprise as a mob of frightened people ran towards him, desperate for an authority figure. It must've scared the crap out of him.

"Everybody calm down!" he shouted, failing to maintain order. I reached him first and he focused on me. "What's going on here?"

"Two armed men are heading up the elevator!" I yelled over the noise of the crowd. Many were simply scattering across the Presidium but a few were staying with the officer. "They have hostages!"

"Spirits, is this true?" the officer turned to a salarian by my side.

The salarian nodded furiously. "Yes, they shot up a market less than five minutes ago. That's where we came from."

"It was so scary!" someone chimed in very helpfully behind me.

The officer nodded. "Right, I'll call Base, try to get so-"

The left elevator arrived with a soft ping.

The other people twirled around to face the door. The C-Sec officer raised his Avenger immediately at the door. Shit was about to go down. And I was standing out in the open. I started backing up cautiously, preparing myself mentally to dive out of the way at any moment. Everyone tensed up.

The doors opened with a quiet swish. And lo and behold, there were my least favorite gangsters, front and center at the doors, pistols raised. The people behind them were cowering in the back, watching with wide eyes.

"Put the guns down now!" the officer roared, leveling his assault rifle at the gangsters. Shit, was he gonna fire at those guys with those civilians in the back?! He'll kill them!

"C-Sec!" the turian yelled, trying to hide behind the little alcove in the elevator.

"Kill him!"

Everything exploded into chaos.

The human gangster opened fire at the officer. At the first shot, a good portion of the civilians in the elevator started screaming. All the people around the officer scattered or fell down, hands clenched over their ears. The officer's shields absorbed some bullets, a blue aura magically appearing around him. He fired back, a quick three round burst, that splattered the human's brains on the back of the elevator. Now everyone in the elevator was screaming, including the turian at his former friend. He popped out of cover, shouting at the top of his lungs and firing wildly at the officer. The officer combat rolled to the right and let loose another volley. The turian, who was smarter than his friend, popped back into cover and the slugs embedded themselves in the elevator wall, which didn't do much to calm the civilians.

Meanwhile, I was furiously backpedaling without turning around, eyes rapt on the scene in front of me. I passed through the Avina terminal almost sprinting, hit my ass on the low railing, lost my balance and tumbled into the water.

This water was _freezing_. The most advanced races in the galaxy, each with enormous trillion dollar economies, apparently couldn't find the time to heat up the lake to a non-freezing temperature. My body was instantly numb, a wave of non-feeling enveloping my body. As my head passed through the threshold, it received, on top of my translator pain, a crippling headache from the temperature. I shut my eyes in pain and opened my mouth to cry out. All I received was a mouthful of the recycled water.

I swam up, gasping for air as I cleared. A bullet, as if waiting for me, promptly shot inches over my head and hit the water. Shit!

I ducked, without thinking, back down under. I swam downwards, desperate to put as much distance between myself and the firefight as possible. I went feet first, awkwardly pushing myself deeper. My clothes, heavy from water absorption, aided in my descent.

The water was dark, almost to the point of no visibility. Everything in front of me was a solid wall of blackness and I could only barely make out the outline of my hands. The firefight was raging above me, loud cracks of a pistol followed by salvos of assault rifle fire. I really hope none of the civilians are hurt.

Something tugged at my leg, hard. A strong current was trying to suck me in. I tried pulling my leg up, but my pant leg was trapped and dragged my foot down. I made a desperate breast stroke style attempt at escaping before I was sucked in.

I was pulled helplessly through the darkness, flailing madly for any leverage at all. I twisted uncontrollably from my thrashing, flipping like a corkscrew. I barely noticed I was screaming, precious oxygen erupting out of my mouth and floating away. The darkness was so complete, I had no idea how far I was dragged.

I slammed shoulder first into the opening of a pipe, the source of the current. My legs were pulled in like someone would suck in spaghetti. I just managed to grasp the opening of the pipe with my stiff fingers before I was dragged into the maw of this beast.

The current here was stronger, more rabid and feral. My heavy clothes were stretched taut against me, anchors threatening to break my hold. The sound of rushing water drained out all other noise. I couldn't open my eyes completely; the current was too strong against them. The sharp edge of the pipe was digging painfully into my fingers.

I reached out my other hand. It took all my energy and was probably was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I got my hand just over the cusp of the edge. An empty cup, discarded by a careless asshole, wiped into my face, surprising me and making my weak hand lose its grip. I was sucked into the void.

I lost all sense of direction in the inky blackness. I felt like I was in a washing machine, tumbling without control. I slammed my head, my elbows, my knees, my shoulders. Everything that could be slammed, was slammed against the small pipe walls. I groped out my hands, desperate for a groove, an indent, anything to grab on to, but my hands only found infuriatingly smooth metal.

The pipe suddenly diverged to the right at a sharp 90 angle. I smashed into the wall headfirst, right where my translator was. A sharp pain, dulled somewhat by the freezing water, exploded in my head, involuntarily causing me to yell out. The last of my breath escaped from my lungs before I could stop it. I slammed my hand into the wall in blind fury.

My lungs were screaming at me for oxygen. They tightened and contracted in my chest, shriveling up with the lack of gas. My heart was overcompensating, pounding like an animal inside me. My brain felt like it was shrinking inside my skull. My furious strokes backwards had slowed into weak kicks and pulls. I was losing my strength with every second.

The pipe curved and turned a few other times, but I barely noticed. I couldn't think straight. My oxygen deprived mind was weakening, breaking down with the lack of nourishment. How long had I been underwater? A minute? Two minutes? I couldn't remember. Hypoxia was starting to take hold.

I stopped moving. My face was pressed against a steel link barrier. I had hit it without even noticing. My body was entirely numb. I probably wouldn't have felt getting shot.

I could dimly see a light through the bars on the other side, down a narrow stretch. Light meant an exit. Air. Life.

I grabbed the barrier weakly with my hands and pushed as hard as I could muster. The bars didn't budge at all. I pushed harder, trying to lean into it. The bars didn't move.

No! I . . . can't die here with . . . the exit so . . . close. I . . . can't. My fingers slipped off the bars without resistance. I couldn't move anymore. My brain was dying. I stared at the beckoning light, the unobtainable desire so close yet so far away. Dark tendrils slithered out from the edges of my vision, trying to engulf the light. I closed my eyes. Acceptance washed over me.

This was it. This was how I went again. Alone, cold, salvation tantalizingly close. Time to die again.

"I think not, Mr. Quinn."

The voice came not from outside but from my mind, cutting through the haze with perfect clarity. The bars in front of me dissolved, vanishing into nothingness. With nothing in front of me, the current carried me steadily forward. I opened my eyes. The light grew steadily larger.

The dark serpents in my vision sprang forward, devouring the exit as it enlarged. The light shrank from a beacon to a small hole and then to a dot before disappearing softly into the void.

And then I was falling, falling away into nothing.


	4. Dance With the Devil

Chapter Four:

Dance With the Devil

"Now you know

Yeah, you got my back against the wall

Oh God

I ain't got no other place to hide

Chained down

Like a sitting duck just waiting for the fall

You know

Yeah, you got my back against the wall."

_Back Against the Wall, Cage the Elephant_

**1:84, GST**

A sensation.

Stimuli.

Movement.

I was caught in a game of tug of war, halfway through the threshold.

I vaguely felt myself move, head lolling uncontrollably.

Something was compressing my chest in a rhythmic pattern. The water in my lungs swirled but refused to leave.

A bright light shined into my eyes. My eyelids twitched involuntarily.

Voices, coming from across an ocean. Someone shouting.

Back into the void.

**1:91, GST**

"Clear!"

I was yanked back into consciousness. All my muscles contracted at the same time. The water in my chest erupted out of my mouth. An oxygen mask had been placed over my mouth and nose so the water returned right back where it came from. I was drowning in my own filth.

"Dysrhythmia avoided! We got a normal rhythm!"

I panicked, arms reaching up to pull the mask off. Something ripped out of my wrist as I did so.

"Restrain him!"

My arms were pressed down. I pushed harder, pure terror coursing through me. Someone removed the mask and I breathed deep, tasting the sweet air again.

A bright light pierced my eyes. "Sir, I need you to remain still, we need to check for brain damage!"

The oxygen mask was placed over my face again. I let out a guttural yelp and pushed again to rip the mask off. I couldn't lift my arms; they were now tied down with restraints.

"He won't stay still!"

"Damnit, give him the sedative!"

Something sharp pierced my wrist. A cooling effect raced through my body. I let out an involuntary sigh. My eyelids grew weak and my vision blurry. Before I could help myself, my eyes were shutting. Sleep. Sleep sounded good.

I felt a hand on my cheek as I faded and a soothing voice in my ear.

"Everything will be alright sir; we'll take care of you."

** 8:35, GST**

Beep. A pause. Beep. Another pause.

For what felt like the first time in days, I woke up gently. I was lying in a cheap bed with a thin blanket over my chest. I could recognize a hospital room anywhere even if it was futuristic. Same IV drips, same heart monitor, same overly disinfected smell. The wall to my right was clear, giving me a glimpse of the bustling hallway.

Fuck . . . just . . . fuck, what the fuck happened last night? Did I really just survive being shot at by gangsters and being pulled into a sewage system? Oh my God, that is some crazy shit! I better thank whatever deity just saved my ass because I now seriously owe he/she/it everything I own. Which is nothing, at the moment, but still. Better count my blessings; I guarantee I have one less life left now.

My translator spiked in pain again. I tried to lift my hand for comfort. Something held them down. I glanced down.

I was handcuffed to the bed.

For a few moments, I just stared at the restraints, dumbfounded. Then the panic set in. I was tied down to this bed. I couldn't move if I wanted to. I pulled on the handcuffs again, hard. They were hardened plastic restraints, designed to not hurt when I pulled on them. They burrowed but didn't cut my skin. I yanked harder, knowing it would be fruitless.

After several failed attempts at escape, the handcuffs started beeping loudly. An asari nurse who had been walking by in the hallway stopped when she heard the noise. She glanced at me, alarmed and we locked eyes for a moment.

She walked in, professional and ready. "Sir, I'm to going to have to ask you to st-"

"Let me out!" I shouted, trying to twist my wrists.

"Sir!" She grabbed my arm in a firm grasp. "Don't make me call security." She was staring at me intently, waiting for my reaction. I stared back, breathing heavily, before relaxing.

"Fine." I let out a long breath. The asari was still staring at me, like I would turn and slit her throat at any moment. "Where am I?"

"Atura Hospital on the Presidium," she said in a strict tone, like she'd had this conversation dozens of times before. "You've been here since early in the morning."

I took a deep breath. "Look, I'm . . . I'm sorry for freaking out just now." I might have overreacted to this poor woman, who really didn't deserve anymore stress. "Just . . . I'm not really into that whole chains in bed thing. Not really my cup of tea." I tried to chuckle, but it came out as a weak snort. She didn't smile, but she visibly relaxed a bit. Eh, I'll take what I can get. "Speaking of which, why am I restrained?"

"It's standard procedure with patients who have gunshot wounds." Oh right, my shoulder. Almost forgot about that. "The law requires that all patients with said wounds be detained until C-Sec frees them. Or arrests them."

Cool, so I'm a wanted suspect now. Super. "How am I anyway? What was the damage?"

She brought up her omnitool. "Nothing major, only minor tissue damage from hypoxia. A small skin and muscle weave took care of that. You've shown no signs of neural decay from oxygen starvation. You also had a minor case of hypothermia, which was easily fixed with warm liquids. The most you'll have are a couple of bruises." She gave me a direct stare. "You also were clinically dead."

"I-I died?" Well damn, I thought dying once was enough. Apparently twice is also not enough. By the time I actually die for good, I'll have died three times. Really amazing.

"Yes, one of the sewage treatment plant workers managed to resuscitate you before any neurons were lost due to lack of oxygen. You shouldn't be experiencing any side effects of this."

"So, I'm fine then? I can go?"

"Not yet I'm afraid," she said, motioning towards my cuffs. "You'll have to wait for an officer t-" The door opened. A human officer was standing in the doorway, wearing the classic blue and black of C-Sec colors."Well, that was quick."

"Is he cleared to leave ma'am?" the officer asked.

"He's all yours," she said, glancing at me briefly before leaving the room.

The officer unlocked my cuffs with his omnitool and motioned for me to get up. As I stood up, I noticed I was wearing the paper thin patient gown. And that there was a draft at my back.

"Your clothes are in that drawer over there. Get dressed and follow me. And don't try anything funny."

**8:69, GST**

About fifty minutes later, I was sitting in a C-Sec interrogation room. Again, I could've recognized it anywhere. Small room, two chairs at a steel table, black one-way mirror on the wall. It had cop stereotype written all over it. I wouldn't be too surprised if David Caruso ended up interrogating me.

They had left me in the room without a word. I had been in here for what felt like an hour, twiddling my thumbs. I was trying to hide the fact I was nervous but wasn't doing a good job of it. I was absently tapping a beat on the table with my knuckles and was glancing around the room constantly. I probably looked like the most classic case of a guilty criminal.

I couldn't help it though. I had never actually been interrogated by the police before. I knew I wasn't guilty of anything, except maybe for taking a dip in the lake. I hadn't actually killed anyone. But what if I said something stupid and incriminated myself? What was that part of the Miranda rights? "Everything you say can and will be held against you"? Hope I can still plead the fifth on the Citadel.

And goddamn was last night haunting me. The asari crying for help, being beaten down, robbed and then shot. The innocent salarian who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Seeing the human's brains leave his body and paint the walls. It was morbid. I probably wouldn't have even flinched watching that on a movie but… this was real. At least I think it was. I was halfway convinced I had turned into a secret nutjob with tinfoil on his head at some point and this was all an hallucination. It may be avoiding the issue but it did help cope.

The door opened. A turian in dark blue armor walked in, holding a datapad. His plates were a light gray and his colony markings were a dark blue like his armor. He was tall, well over six feet, dwarfing me if I had been standing. He had a blue visor on his left eye that glowed with futuristic technology.

Ho. Ly. Shit. Garrus Vakarian.

"Michael Quinn?" he asked, taking a seat in front of me. Goddamn, his voice was the same too. Low and a little raspy with the flanging effect. Brandon Keener definitely needed to do more voice acting.

I didn't respond, I was too busy watching him. I wasn't star struck, it was just the act of actually seeing him in the flesh was all too surreal. The Citadel and Destiny Ascension were one thing but this was Garrus. Space Batman for crying out loud. I almost wondered why he didn't have the scars across his face but then I remembered he hadn't gone to Omega yet. His face was smooth and young. I might be admiring him too much for my own good.

He cleared his throat, mandibles clicking. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh no, no no!" Jesus, don't want to make a bad impression. "You, uh, kinda look familiar, is all." Very familiar. "Yeah, uh, I'm Michael Quinn, though I'd prefer you just call me Quinn."

"Okay Quinn. I'm Investigator Garrus Vakarian," he said, leaning forward with his hands on the table. "I'll be blunt here. Right now, I've got two dead bodies in the Wards, dozens of frightened citizens, many with multiple trampling injuries and two dead gangsters along with a wounded officer. Both the officer and the citizens claim a human with your characteristics was at the scene of the shooting in the market and Presidium. And then you were found not far from the crime scene with a gunshot wound. So," he threw the datapad onto the table, "care to fill in the gaps?"

Wow, had I really caused all that? "The corpses in the Wards, it was an asari and salarian right?" Garrus nodded. "Those two gangsters you mentioned robbed the asari and murdered her, as an intiation rite. They saw me witness the act and they killed the salarian while trying to kill me. They also managed to clip my shoulder during the chase, hence the wound."

"And the shooting in the market?"

"They followed me there. I tried to hide in the crowd and they shot off a couple rounds to make people duck and expose me. I managed to get on an elevator to the Presidium and they kept chasing me. When I got to the Presidium, I saw an officer and tried to tell him what was goin' on but the gangsters arrived and started shooting." I took a breath. I had said all that in a bit of a hurry, nervous about relaying the information.

"That still doesn't explain why you were found unconscious in a nearby sewage treatment facility." He leaned back in his chair, eyeing me. I suddenly felt like a bug under a huge microscope.

I cleared my throat. Time for the embarrassing bit. "Well, during the firefight I got . . . distracted and, er, fell in the lake." Wow, that sounded really pathetic when I said it like that. So much for my pride. "I swam down to avoid getting shot and got sucked into one of the pipes."

Garrus gave me a hard look. "You expect me to believe that? The sewage treatment facilities are checked constantly for any possibility of trash escaping into the water. It must've taken a miracle for you to survive being pulled into one."

"Well I'm here aren't I?" I shot back. "I'm not lying to you, it's the truth. I wouldn't have made up a story like that if I was lying."

For what felt like a long time, we both stared at each other. Garrus was examining me, looking for any telltale facial expressions. I returned his stare with equal intensity, clenching my teeth to avoid moving my mouth. The silence permeated the room. Then he nodded, clicking his mandibles. "One of the witnesses did say they saw someone fall into the lake at the time of the shooting." His omnitool beeped. He looked it over for a few seconds. "And we just obtained footage from Kithoi Ward of three armed men chasing a human and killing a salarian."

"Sooo, my story checks out then?"

He paused for a moment before replying. "It appears so. I would like to keep you around for further questioning but if you agree not to press charges, then we can get you-"

"Press charges?" I said, confused. "Why would I do that?"

Garrus' face didn't change (like it ever could) but he flicked his mandibles out wide, fast. It looked like the turian equivalent of an eyebrow raise. "Well, you were almost killed on a public feature. When this happens to most people, they want to sue anything with a badge." I could detect a hint of disdain in his voice.

I laughed, causing Garrus to give another mandible flick. "Look, it's my fault I got sucked in by that thing; I shouldn't have been down by it in the first place. I'm not gonna try to take taxpayer money just because I wanted to take a swim. I'm not an asshole."

Garrus flared his mandibles again but this time they stayed out; a smile. "That's good to hear. You have no idea how many times people will try to steal from C-Sec. Many people even fake things to get benefits."

I snorted. "Oh I bet. Back on Earth, I heard a story about a woman who put a severed finger in her food and tried to sue the restaurant for it."

Garrus chuckled. "Sounds like something I came across a little while ago. An asari down on Zakera Ward was complaining about finding a human eye in her soup. When none of the employees were human. And in a notoriously salarian neighborhood."

We both guffawed at that. "An eye?" I asked, incredulous. "I can understand a finger but an eye? Those don't exactly fall out!"

Garrus' mandibles were far out now, showing his vicious looking teeth. "Criminals aren't exactly the smartest bunch."

"They wouldn't be criminals if they were smart." Garrus nodded, still smiling. "Hey man, am I good? Can I go now?" As much as I was enjoying talking to Garrus, I really didn't want to be here at C-Sec any longer. I was afraid Gatsby might show up and try to rope me into his schemes.

Garrus gave another mandible flick. "Go? Why would you want to do that?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm done here right? Why would I want to stay?"

Garrus tilted his head slightly, giving me a confused look. "You're Michael Quinn right? The first human to apply to be an Investigator?"

"Um… no? I haven't applied here, at least that I'm aware of." That's probably what Gatsby meant by saying he "arranged" things for my arrival.

"It's the big thing right now at Headquarters. All the human officers apparently won't stop talking about it. It'll be quite a step forward for your kind. Investigators are handpicked by Pallin himself and he isn't too fond of humans."

"Yeah, well, it's not true. I don't want to work at C-Sec. Guess you shouldn't believe rumors so quickly." So Gatsby wants me to be an Investigator huh? Well he can go fuck himself; I'm not going to play his game.

Garrus held up his hands in mock surrender. "I understand, this job isn't meant for everyone." He brought up his omnitool suddenly. "Listen, if you'll stay for a little bit, I'll message Pallin and tell him you're not interested now instead of later."

"Hey thanks, I appreciate it. Let him down easy for me."

"I'll give him a good shoulder to cry on," he replied, typing away on his omnitool.

I watched him for a little bit before another headache started setting in again. My goddamn translator was acting up again. The pain was noticeably lessened from the first time but it was still enough to make me wince. Garrus didn't notice so I started rubbing my temples, trying to appease my skull. When I failed, I buried my head in my hand, simply willing the pain to leave.

Silence filled the room. I couldn't hear Garrus typing on his omnitool, not that I could have before. He was being oddly silent though. I didn't have to try too hard to pretend that I was alone in the room. I didn't hear a breath, a foot shuffle, a weight shift, nothing.

"Hey Garrus," I asked, slowly pulling my hand down, "is everything alr-"

The words were cut off in my throat.

Garrus Vakarian was frozen to the spot.

He had still been fiddling with his omnitool. His talons were spread out, typing. His eyes were half closed, like he had been blinking. Mandibles were spread open, his sharp teeth jutting out. Turian dentistry was really starting to remind me of a shark's mouth.

"What the fu-" I stood up cautiously. Garrus was as still as a statue. If I hadn't seen him moving a minute before, I could've easily mistaken him for a wax sculpture. He didn't blink. He wasn't even breathing. I carefully moved over to him.

I prodded him in the neck with a finger. He remained rigid and unmoving. He was still warm.

"Jesus Christ." I ran a hand through my hair. What the fuck is going on around here?! I grabbed Garrus by the shoulder, shaking him roughly. "Garrus! Say something!" No response. I shook harder. "Do something you freaking dinosaur!" As I shook him, he maintained his original position perfectly. He's not budging.

I backed away from him. That's it, I've finally done it. I've lost my mind. Seeing Gatsby, being dropped into Mass Effect, that was hard to take, almost too much. But this . . . no I'm definitely insane. I'm probably sitting in a padded cell right now in a strait jacket, drool running down my empty face as the doctors shake their heads at the mess in front of them. Oh please let that be true, I'd rather be there than in this universe right now.

I fumbled for the door control button, still staring at Garrus. He didn't move. I found it and the door opened behind me. I stumbled backwards into the hall, hitting the wall with my back. I take a look around and my disbelief deepened. Looks like Garrus wasn't the only victim.

An asari had been about to walk into the interrogation chamber, hand extended to open the door. A salarian and a human had been walking side by side, both looking at a datapad held by the salarian. Another human officer had been patrolling, face neutral in boredom.

"I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind. . . ." I stumbled down the hallway, leaning heavily on the wall. I turned the corner sharply. A turian had been just about to round it and I bumped into him unexpectedly.

I screamed at an embarrassingly high pitch and shoved past him. I broke out into a run, balls of my feet slamming into the ground as I raced through the police station. Everywhere I went, I saw more and more statues of former people. I couldn't help but think of that Adam Sandler movie _Click_. It wasn't as happy go lucky as it seemed though. These were real people, or were real people. I was in a frozen museum, the only visitor in a sea of exhibits. Surrounded by lifeless life.

But who cares? This is all a dream right? I'm just a severe schizophrenic whose sanity is slowly dripping away from him in some asylum. Or maybe someone spiked my drink while I wasn't looking. Hell, I had been listening to music, maybe that vexations shit I read about on the internet was real after all. Or maybe this was all a dream. A strangely vivid and lucid dream. With correct details in a complex universe.

I tumbled through another door and finally found the main lobby. The asari receptionist had been pouring blue liquid into a glass. A corkscrewing saphire arc twisted from the bottle to the glass, held up by nothing. A turian facing the asari had been yawning, exposing his needle like teeth. A human couple had been making out in the corner, their bodies interwined with roaming hands. A salarian had tripped and was in the process of dropping a load of datapads to the floor. They were stuck in the air indefinitely. I grabbed one in my hand. It weighed and felt exactly like a normal one. I let it go. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

I'm fucking insane.

The double sliding doors loomed in front of me. I made for them like a starving man makes for food. In my ecstasy of fumbling, I tripped over my own foot as I slammed the door control button. I sprawled onto my hands and knees as I landed outside. I gazed up, expecting to see the Presidium.

I was back in the interrogation room.

It was the exact room I had been in a few minutes ago, minus Garrus. Same table, same one way mirror, same everything.

"Nonononononono!" I fell back on my ass, frantically crab walking backwards. I reached up, pawing for the door control button. I found only smooth metal. I turned my head to find it.

There was only a wall behind me.

Whatever ounce of sanity I had left inside me was instantly dashed away. I started screaming, panic finally setting in. I banged at the wall, punched it, clawed it, I almost tried biting it. I became a feral animal, instinct overpowering every rational thought. Out, I needed out. The cold, indifferent wall didn't budge or sway. It stood undaunted against my onslaught. I never hated modern technology more in my life.

"Please calm down Mr. Quinn."

I whirled around, heart leaping into my throat.

Gatsby was sitting at the table facing me, fingers laced together on the table, smiling his eternal smile. I stared at him like the devil incarnate. He laughed, that goddamn good humor of his, and pushed out the other chair with his foot. "Come Mr. Quinn, we have much to discuss."

I stayed where I was, not budging. My fear was washing away now, being replaced by fresh hot anger. "What the fuck is going on here?!"

"I thought we needed to talk," he answered, interlacing his fingers on the table. "There is much we need to discuss about your actions."

"T-talk? Fuck you! You're the reason I'm in this fucking universe in the first place! I don't have shit to say to you!"

The smile on his face dimmed a fraction. "Please Mr. Quinn, can we keep this civil? There is no need for rude remarks."

"Go fuck yourself!"

Gatsby sighed. "I'm afraid if you continue like this I'll have to ask in a more . . . forceful manner." Something flashed in his green eyes for a moment. Something dark. "Now, if you would?" He gestured towards the chair.

I stayed where I was, not really sure what to do. I glanced back at the doorless and back to him. He motioned for the seat again. Not seeing any other option, I walked over and took the seat. Gatsby's grin returned in full force. God, I wanted to punch him.

We didn't speak for a few moments. I stared hard into his eyes. His irises were moving inside his eyes, shifting ever so slightly. It was like watching a green ocean. A faint goldish hue began to appear and spread across his iris.

"So Mr. Quinn, what changed your mind about C-Sec, hm? You seemed very determined for a while."

"Keeping tabs on me?" I said, mashing my teeth together. I was trying to calculate how long it would take me to reach over and bash him in the mouth.

"Why yes of course! I told you I'd be watching didn't I? I don't break my promises."

"How noble of you."

Gatsby sighed again. "I would advise you to not use that disrespectful tone towards me Mr. Quinn. It will not be beneficial to you." The grin was still on his face, but something had appeared in his eyes. A faint fire. "Now, I'll ask again. What made you decide to not join C-Sec?"

I took a deep breath. I was still righteously angry at him but his sudden serious demeanor was unnerving. To say the least. "I realized I don't want to risk my life for something I never wanted."

Gatsby laughed. The sudden act made me jump. "You certainly are a unique one Mr. Quinn. Most people are very eager to join Shepard's team or become mercenaries. Why aren't you?"

"What? There are others?" Has this monster really subjected other people to this?

"Of course," he said casually, as if we were talking about the weather. "There are an infinite number of potentials that are occurring, each in a different universe. Every situation your mind can conceive of and an infinite more you can't are playing out right now, somewhere and at some time. You are not the first to be placed in this situation and you won't be the last."

My mouth dropped incredulously. "So you're telling me right now, billions of people are experiencing the same situation as me? Being placed into the Mass Effect universe?"

"Indeed. And every other universe you are unaware of. Though most take to their duties more eagerly. You are an exception."

"I call bullshit." Gatsby's face darkened a little at my swearing but I continued. "Normal people don't just want to become soldiers after being dropped off in a different universe. That's insane! Most people aren't secret sociopaths ready to start killing right away."

"I'm afraid the facts disagree with you," he replied with cool dismissiveness. "And your own actions do as well. You were about to join C-Sec before you decided to rebel. You were almost like the rest."

"Well, I realized how different being a cop in real life is compared to TV. I'm not cut out for constantly being shot at. It's not exactly pleasant."

Gatsby raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure Mr. Quinn? You handled yourself remarkably well with those gangsters."

"I got shot and almost drowned! You yourself had to step in and save me!"

"Nonsense!" he said, dismissing my exclamation with a wave of his hand. "You managed to elude three trained killers by yourself. You showed impressive determination to live. I'm sure if you were as useless as you believed you wouldn't have jumped over a chasm to escape, wouldn't you?"

"I'd chalk that up to adrenaline and instinct rather than skill."

"It is still impressive nonetheless." Gatsby's irises were now completely golden. The fire in his eyes was gone, gone like it had never been there. "And you also showed a desire to help people. When you were willing to join C-Sec that was your main motivation. To help."

"You can read my mind?" I should really control what I think around this guy. Don't want my mind to wander to undesirable places. Like thinking about killing him for instance.

"After everything you've witnessed me do, are you really surprised that I can?"

He does have a point. "No, not really."

Gatsby smiled and nodded. He leaned forward. "So tell me Mr. Quinn, if you had been armed, would you have taken on those gangsters?"

"You just said you can read my mind, why are you asking?"

His smile grew wider. "I think it would be more effective if you said it yourself."

I leaned back in my chair. Would I have if I had the chance? I'd be a terrible shot and probably end up getting killed without breaking their shields. But… that asari didn't deserve her fate. Neither did that salarian. Both were innocent victims. Both deserved to live. So would I have? Maybe. It'd be massively stupid and dangerous of me, but I might have if I had had the opportunity.

"Maybe."

"And do you think those men deserved to be punished?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course I do, they fucking killed people! I didn't exactly want them to die but definitely not just get a slap on the wrist!"

He seemed to consider this with a trademark grin. "So you're saying that you want to help people and punish criminals as, say, a C-Sec officer would?"

"Listen Gatsby, don't do this stupid psychology shit on me. It's not going to work. And I swear to God, if you pull out those goddamn Rorschach water colors, I'm leaving." Therapists always bothered the hell out of me. How does that make you feel? Would you like to sit or lie down? I'd like to fucking leave, that's what I'd like to do.

"Understood," he laughed, raising his hands to placate me. His laugh caused the opposite effect however. "Do you swear you're telling the truth?" I didn't answer, instead just glared at him in response. He sighed, though his smile didn't wane. "Please answer the question Mr. Quinn."

"Sure," I said, like I was pulling teeth.

"See? You already have the attributes of a good soldier. The ability to survive and the desire to protect others."

"Yeah but that doesn't mean I want to be one," I shot back, my anger returning. "I want to go back to my old life with my friends and family. You can't just expect me to leave my old life and become your puppet."

"I'm afraid you don't have an alternative Mr. Quinn. I cannot send you back."

"Why the fuck not?" I yelled, shooting up and leaning over the table. Gatsby didn't move and neither did his smile but that fire was back in his eyes. It mixed brilliantly with his now golden eyes and I could almost feel the heat emanating off of them. We stayed like that for an unknown time, each staring down the other. After a bit, I sat down slowly. "Are you telling me that you can make me defy death, send me to another universe and read my mind but you can't send me home?"

"I am merely an enforcer for destiny Mr. Quinn, I cannot change what has been willed to happen. There are forces at work here far beyond your comprehension Mr. Quinn, forces that will not be denied. This universe is fated to survive the Reapers but will not without your intervention. I need your cooperation. It is more important than you know."

"Bull. Fucking. Shit Gatsby." The fire returned in force but I didn't care. "I don't give a shit about the powers that be. You sent me here, you can send me back again. This isn't a goddamn Terminator movie."

Something changed in the air. It got more . . . oppressive. "Please Mr. Quinn. Act civil."

I lost it there. "_Fuck you, you smug piece of shit_! _Send me home_!"

The table suddenly lit up like a hotplate, burning my skin. I yelped and pulled my burnt arms from it. The table was glowing a bright white and was _steaming _for Christ's sake. The room now felt like a sauna, forcing a hefty sweat out of me. The fire in Gatsby's eyes had become three dimensional, licking out of his eyes like serpents trying to escape from a cage.

"I will not ask again Mr. Quinn," he said, calm as ever, resting his arms on the blistering table. His clothes didn't singe at all. "Try to act civil. It is in your best interests."

I took a lot of deep breaths, forcing the air in and out. I clenched my fists, feeling my nails pierce my palms. I need to calm down. This wasn't a conversation between friends, Gatsby was a powerful entity with an agenda. I was performing nuclear fission by taunting him. It won't be healthy for me.

I started talking again when I had calmed down enough not to yell. "You expect me to believe that my presence alone is enough to tip the balance of an entire galactic war? How can I possibly make that difference?"

The fires and heat winked out of existence like they'd never been there at all. "The right person in the right place can make all the difference Mr. Quinn. How do you think your history would have played out without Aristotle's inquisitions, without Columbus' explorations, without Washington's bravery or without King's determination? It only takes one man to spark the fires of change and you," he pointed at me, "happen to be carrying the torch."

"So I, an anonymous kid with no combat experience whatsoever, can help stop a galactic genocide?"

"Correct."

"And you won't send me back to my universe?"

Gatsby chuckled. His eyes had started turning a deep purple. "Believe me Mr. Quinn, I would if I was able but I cannot."

I nodded solemnly, a bitter taste in my mouth. "Well, looks like I don't have a choice do I? I mean, what the fuck else am I supposed to do?"

Gatsby's smile deepened. "We all have a choice Mr. Quinn. It is why I did not simply force you to join C-Sec and instead came here and asked. I cannot force you to join but I cannot send you home. You can live a temporarily peaceful life until the Reapers arrive if that is what you wish."

"I'll pass on that." It'd be hell just sitting around, watching everyone live peaceful lives and knowing it will all end in a few years. I'd either become a creepy hermit that yells at pedestrians or end up blowing my brains out. "Don't think I could handle the knowledge of imminent destruction and doing nothing about it."

"So is that a yes?" he asked, smiling his eternal smile.

I stared at the floor for what felt like a long time.

I couldn't go back to my old universe. Gatsby seemed to make that very clear. I couldn't do much to argue with him for it because, really what could I use as leverage against him? To quote Joker, the most I could do was break my arm at him. It'd be like an ant arguing against the boot. And those eyes of his were starting to scare me.

So I'm stuck in Mass Effect, three years before the first game. And apparently there wasn't shit I could do about it. Did I really want to join C-Sec? No, of course not. I still saw it as dangerous and something not for me. But honestly, what choice did I have? Get a 9 to 5 job and sit around doing nothing while the Reapers prepared to buttfuck the galaxy? If what Gatsby said was true (and I was taking everything he said with a grain of salt) then I would definitely die by the hands of some husk or something.

Now see, I don't want to do that. I like being alive. It's not perfect but it's pretty nice. Probably the best thing I've ever done if I'm being honest. So I'd like to continue, you know, doing that if possible. I guess I could hide, steal a shuttle and run off to an uncharted planet somewhere in the galaxy and live in a cave like a destitute shell of a man. But the Reapers were thorough, if I had to say something nice about them. Galactic genocide needs to be thorough to succeed. I could run but I couldn't hide. And living like that would be cowardly and lonely as hell. If I joined C-Sec at least, then I'd get combat training, which would help my odds by quite a lot. Or, according to Gatsby, if I actually joined Shepard's squad, then apparently I'd stop the Reaper invasion in it's tracks, saving the galaxy and myself in the process. Whichever works really.

And well, being a cop didn't really sound _that_ bad. I'd get to help people after all. An Investigator is like a detective right? So I'd get to hunt down criminals and bring them to justice. Be a part of the long arm of the law. I'd get to stop criminals like the fucks who chased me last night. That pissed me off, how those savages thought they could get away with shooting up a market and attacking a C-Sec officer. Maybe they were just stupid or maybe they thought that C-Sec wasn't competent enough to catch them. Probably a little of both. But what did that say about the Citadel if criminals thought they could get away with crap like that? It meant that this station isn't the perfect oasis it's made out to be. Criminals here needed to be brought to justice.

"So no chance of going back to my universe?"

"I'm afraid not."

"And you can guarantee that I'll survive if I help out Shepard?"

"Nothing is set in stone Mr. Quinn but it is certainly better than doing nothing."

I sighed.

Goddamnit.

"Fine," I replied eventually. Gatsby's face lit up with happiness. "But this isn't for you. I'm only doing this because it'll help people. I'm still fucking pissed at you for sending me here."

Gatsby raised his hands in surrender. "I understand Mr. Quinn, I would most likely feel the same way if the roles were reversed. I am pleased you came around and hope we can repair this bump in our relationship."

"Yeah, I doubt it." I stared off into the corner for a moment. "Will I ever go back home? See my family again?"

His smile faded slightly. "No." He didn't explain further, like he usually did. That said a lot. More than I wanted to hear.

I wasn't going home. I wasn't going to to see my family. I wasn't going to live a normal life anymore. I felt a knot in my stomach and the warm wetness behind my eyes. I held it back. I didn't want to cry now, in front of Gatsby. I'll do that later, when I'm alone.

I rubbed my face with my hands, trying to rub away the sadness. It didn't work. "Look Gatsby, I... God, I need some motivation here. I mean, I don't know what the hell you see in me but I definitely don't think I'm a hero. I don't really have that drive to run into the gates of hell like most heros would."

"Ah ha!" Gatsby exclaimed. "There's the source of your problem. You don't believe you're right for this position do you? That you aren't good enough?"

"Well, yeah." I think Gatsby hit the nail on the head. I didn't think I was good enough, on top of all the other reasons I could think of. "What have I really done to prove otherwise? Just look at the first thing I did when you asked me to help. I ran away and almost killed myself. I _did_ get myself killed. That's not really something a hero does, is it?"

Gatsby laughed. He never seemed to be in a bad mood. "Mr. Quinn, do you think that heros are born ready to fight, ready to kill right out of the womb? Every hero has flaws! Look at your history for example. Gandhi would routinely beat his wife, Dr. King would regularly commit adultery along with JFK, and all the founding fathers of America denied the slaves rights and owned many just as the citizens did. But would you argue that these men are lesser for it? No, of course not! They overshadowed their flaws with their achievements. They made up for these faults. And you can do the same."

I stared at the black rose on his chest for a little bit. "Do you really think I can be greater? That I can be a hero?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe that Mr. Quinn. I also wouldn't have saved your life." His smile waned ever so slightly. "I'm afraid I have... interferred too much, however. Overstepped one too many boundaries. Certain actions will have to be taken to correct this."

"Like?" I'm not gonna have to sacrifice a goat to him am I?

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with Mr. Quinn." His smile was reassuring but I was a little unnerved. What had he meant by that? "It is not your problem."

I knew I wasn't going to get an honest answer out of him. Gatsby was great at talking circles around me. "I wish I shared your optimism," I said bitterly. "Alright, so you've managed to convince me to go along with this, at least for now. What happens next?"

His smile, without changing form, turned slightly mischievous. "You embrace destiny Mr. Quinn." He raised up his hand and snapped his fingers.

Gatsby was replaced in an instant with Garrus, back in his original position. I jumped a mile out of my seat. "Shit!"

He jumped at my outburst. "Is something wrong?" he asked, concerned. He was moving again, mandibles twitching and eyes examining me.

"Uh. . . ." My heart caught in my throat for a moment and I had to painfully swallow it. "No . . . no, j-just a weird gas bubble." The door to the hallway had reappeared, thank Christ. I resisted the urge to bolt through it. I sat back down slowly and tried not to succumb to insanity.

He gave me an odd look before continuing his task. "Well, I made the message to Pallin to cancel your Investigator applica-"

"Hey yeah, about that," I said. "I've, uh, changed my mind. I'm going to be joining C-Sec after all."

Garrus gave me a look of "are you kidding me, you made me do all this shit for nothing". "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I am. I decided it'll be the best thing for me." Maybe not voluntarily per say. . . .

Garrus sighed. "Alright, I'll delete the message. You're lucky you caught me before I sent it."

"Yeah, could you not mention quitting to Pallin?" If I actually was going to do this, then trying to quit right away would not be a good first impression for Pallin. It might be incentive enough for him to fire me. Which would be a great tragedy, I'm sure.

He nodded. "Sure thing. Do you want me to set up a meeting?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." He returned to typing on his omnitool and I leaned back in my chair.

Time to become the reluctant savior of the galaxy.

Here goes nothing.


	5. Gilded Dream

Chapter Five:

Gilded Dream

"The Show must go on!

The Show must go on! Yeah!

Inside my heart is breaking

My make-up may be flaking

But my smile, still, stays on!"

_The Show Must Go On, Queen_

**July 1, 2186**

**9:60, GST**

**Location Unknown**

_"And there you have it folks, my entrance to the Citadel! A shining example of bravado and heroics, directed by Michael Bay. And yes, that is indeed how I got to the Citadel. Through a godlike man who I named after a classic novel character. It felt just as awkward explaining as the first time too. Can't really dress up the absurdity of it but hey, the truth is the truth._

_"And yeah, it should be known that I originally didn't want to be an Investigator nor did I want to join Shepard's squad. That all changed for me after my first case but I was reluctant to start off. Not really an important detail but I wanted to say that._

_"Losing my family… hurt, to put it lightly. I had to deal with losing everyone I had ever loved, alone, in a strange world very suddenly. No goodbyes, no last words, nothing. That's the part that always hit me the hardest. That I never told them how I really cherished being with them, all the times they'd picked me up and helped me. People never really know what they have until it's gone. It's a sad fact."_

_The man glances away and is silent for a moment. "You know, I'd be lying if I said living on the Citadel was easy. It sucked. I mean, I was living in the heavenly utopia of the galaxy and having a miserable time. Sure, when I was with Garrus or in class, I could at least pretend to be happy, put up a front. I'd gotten pretty good at it during high school. But when I was alone, when I wasn't sparring with Garrus or getting shot at, it . . . got pretty hard." He scratches his face and stares through the floor. "Yeah. It got hard. . . ."_

A standard issue C-Sec Predator pistol fires rounds at three thousand seven hundred and fifty feet per second. Or one thousand one hundred and thirty four meters per second for anyone who doesn't use the Imperial measurement system. That's about two thousand five hundred and fifty miles per hour, or about four thousand one hundred and ten kilometers per hour. Needless to say, that's pretty fucking fast; supersonic speeds aren't usually slow. At that speed, the bullet could clear over twelve football fields in less than a second. It could zoom through a marathon in thirty six seconds. It could shoot around the Earth in less than ten hours. It could carve its way to the Moon in less than four days.

It could also tear clean through a human's skull in a few milliseconds.

Another fascinating thing is the safety on this weapon; it's just a little switch. A little switch that could mean life or death. Flick it off and you're ready to start blasting. Leave it on and you might as well be making fake revolver motions with your hand. It's such a little thing; a little thing that could have the biggest of consequences. By flicking it off, you became a master. Whoever you pointed it at was now completely under your control. You could decide whether they would live or die. Whether they could kiss their wife again or go sleep in a closed casket. You became God.

I switched the safety off, relishing the little click it made. My endorphins were rushing.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On.

Off.

You know, what do I really have to live for? My family and friends are dead; they're fucking dead as dirt. I never got to say goodbye. Never got to hug my mom, have a beer with my dad, fight with my brother; never got to do anything. And now I'll never get that chance. All of my achievements, everything I've ever done, is gone. What's a man without his accomplishments? I'm nothing. No one's gonna miss me. Hell, I'm probably not even worth the bullet.

On.

Gatsby says I need to save the world. Not just the world, but the galaxy at large, sentient life as we know it. Me; the screw-up kid who wasted his time, coasted through school, and never did anything with his life. Talk about a joke. I'm not a hero; I'm just the canon fodder, the nameless grunt who gets killed in the name of freedom. The one no one cares about.

Off.

I'm hungry; I haven't had a good meal in days. Even when I do eat, food has no taste. I need to force it down and it sits like a rock in my stomach. I haven't showered either; I smell like something the cat threw up, and my clothes, wrinkled and covered in stains, are disgusting. I feel like a zombie, monotonously doing everything I'm told. I have no choice in anything. I'm a slave. But most of all, I feel tired. I just feel so goddamn tired.

On.

I hate this place; I hate it so fucking much. The slick chromium walls, the VIs and the flying cars, the aliens who look at me like I'm a freak; I hate it all. Every bit of it, every last fucking detail constantly reminds of where I am, and where I'm not. I want to go home. I want the world I used to know, not this fantasy land. I want cars with four wheels, people with shorter lifespans and more diseases, an abysmal economy, a failing enviornment. Right now I'd trade anything for it. But it might just be as simple as pulling a trigger.

Off.

I stared at the gun until my eyes felt dry, turning it over and over in my hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, I raised it up and settled the barrel neatly on my temple. It felt cold; the coldest thing I'd ever felt in my life. My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking. There was a stubborn pain in my heart. I breathed in slow, feeling the air inflate my lungs. It felt good, better than ever. With one final push of air, I looped my finger smoothly around the trigger.

I closed my eyes.

"One new message."

I gasped and threw the gun away. It bounched and skittered on the floor until finally resting some odd feet in front of me, the sunless barrel watching me. I hugged myself, struggling to breathe, feeling numb and light-headed. My stomach contracted and I almost puked, but I somehow managed to keep it down. After a while of watching my motionless gun, I had the clearance of mind to check my omnitool. I'd gotten a message. A message from Garrus. I opened it.

_GV: Want to spar again? I'm drowning in busy work and need a break._

I read the message, and reread it, and reread it again; I even stared at the little picture of Garrus on the contact photo. I lifted my eyes to my gun lying on the ground. Something warm fluttered in my stomach. I couldn't tell if it was fear or shame. Then, with shaky fingers, I typed out a reply.

_MQ: Sure. Give me a minute._

I closed it out and ran both hands through my unwashed hair, feeling every strand. Hot breath skidded down my forearms. A solitary tear rolled down my cheek. After I finally felt I had enough strength in my legs, I got up. I went over and picked up my gun, thinking of how familiar the weight was. I flicked the safety back on and shoved it back into my holster.

Then I straightened my hair, wiped the tears from my eyes, and strolled out of the dark alley into the bright Presidium day.

**July 1, 2186**

**9:63, GST**

**Location Unknown**

_The man doesn't speak for a few moments, his hands clasped together. Silence fills the room._

_"You know, I've never really talked about this stuff to anyone. It feels weird being open 'stead of just bottling it down. Other than like Garrus or Devon, no one's really asked." The man's eyes widen. "Shit, you aren't . . . you aren't supposed to know about her yet. And I just swore too, fucking great." The man clasps his hand over his mouth. "Okay, gotta get a better grip on that. Devon is . . . no, I'll just introduce her in the story naturally. Or I could edit that out when I'm done. Yeah, I'm definitely going to edit that out, doesn't matter._ _ But, accidentally revealed spoilers aside, it feels a little weird talking about this. It's an old wound, a long buried grave. But apparently the body hasn't really decayed yet."_

_He blows out a long breath. "First things first after agreeing to join C-Sec was that I had to be interviewed. By Pallin. I knew next to nothing about this guy so I had no idea what to expect when I walked into his office. Probably didn't help I was still wearing my dirty twenty fir__st__ century clothes at the time either. Never paused to consider that I might want to buy a suit or something. Or maybe even sort through my credentials and resume to know what I was talking about. In hindsight, if things hadn't worked out like they did, Pallin probably would have said no to me on the spot."_

**11:12, GST**

Okay. You can do this. Just deep breaths, calm yourself. Damnit, this isn't working!

I was standing outside Pallin's office, trying to conjure up the courage to actually enter his office to be interviewed. It probably didn't help that this was my first job interview ever either. And I never actually saw Pallin in the games, except for when he was berating Garrus, so I had no idea about his character. He was a wildcard.

Screw it. I hit the door control button.

Lion's den here I come.

If I was expecting some scary video game boss lair, I was severely disappointed. Pallin was sitting at his desk, typing on his computer. The office was exactly like in the game, largely empty with a nice view of the Presidium in the back. Very anticlimactic. Couldn't he be stroking a cat next to a fireplace or something?

Pallin didn't look up as I entered so I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Executor Pallin?"

"Yes, have a seat," he answered, not looking up. I sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

We sat in awkward silence, Pallin typing nonchalantly at his computer and me trying very hard not to whistle casually. After about half a minute of me looking everywhere but at him, Pallin closed his computer and acknowledged me. Pallin's colony marking were a deep blue that stretched along his brow (plate?) and up his head along the crest. Gotta hand it to the turians, they made face painting badass.

"So Mr. Quinn, you want to become the first human Investigator?" he asked, staring directly into me.

I had an urge to tell him not to call me Mr. Quinn. It reminded me too much of Gatsby and I really didn't want to be reminded of Gatsby any more than I had to. I almost told him to call me Quinn but… no; don't want to piss him off. He will be the one signing my paychecks after all. "Yes, sir."

"I've been reviewing your credentials." He brought up his computer again. "Graduated top of your class. You took multiple criminal law courses in your spare time is that correct?"

If you want it to be. "Yes."

He hummed slightly as he went through my resume. I had no idea what was on there so I was hoping Gatsby had made it as official looking as possible. It definitely seemed he was generous with the embellishing of it. Multiple optional law enforcement classes? I barely completed my own high school classes; I definitely wouldn't have taken more.

He closed his computer again and fixed me with a deeper stare. Goddamn, turians looked intimidating in real life. The emotionless face, the deep predatory eyes, the sharp fringe. They really pulled off the whole "alpha predator" look. "Do you think you deserve this job Mr. Quinn?"

Despite the seriousness of the question, I snorted a little, which made Pallin flare his mandibles slightly. "That's a loaded question sir."

"A what?"

"A loaded question. Human phrase. Means that no matter what I say, it's a bad answer. If I say yes, then you'll think I'm arrogant and entitled. If I say no, then you'll think I don't really want the job. There's no real right answer to that question."

"And what is your answer to the question?"

Alright, time for a diplomatic answer. "Both yes and no. Yes in the sense that I am qualified for the job and that's why I should get it, and no in the sense that I shouldn't be entitled to it." I decided to take a shot in the dark. "I don't hold any ideas that you should hire me based solely on my race, if that's what you're getting at."

Pallin nodded. "It is. You humans are still newcomers to this galaxy and yet you demand so much for yourselves. An embassy, colonization rights, Spectre candidacy. Your kind seems to think everything should just be handed to you."

"I think you've just talked to too many of our politicians," I chuckled. "We're a very individualistic race Pallin, you can't right us all off as arrogant and prideful."

"I suppose not," he conceded, "but you haven't given me any reason to believe otherwise."

"Look Pallin," I started, straightening my back, "let's leave the xenophobia behind for now, okay? If you don't want to hire me, that's fine. I don't want you to feel obligated to do so for a superficial reason. But if you do decide that I'm worth your time, then I promise you sir, I will not disappoint. I will not just be a human, I will be an Investigator. A damned good Investigator at that."

My speech may have sounded like I cared but I really didn't. I honestly wouldn't be that bothered if Pallin said no. Gatsby would likely solve this little problem for me anyway and if he didn't, who cares right? Maybe he'll give up on me and send me back, despite what he's told me. A man can dream.

He watched me for a while, not saying anything. I forced myself to meet his gaze. One thing I'd learned thus far about turians was that breaking eye contact in convo was bad etiquette. Like really bad, it basically implied you didn't respect the person enough to even acknowledge them. And that I was something I should probably avoid doing.

"Would you be absolutely loyal to your superiors?" he asked without warning.

"Yes sir."

"Would you do your best to uphold Citadel law?"

"Yes sir."

"Would you treat any citizen differently based on race or social status?"

"No sir."

"Would you be uncomfortable working with members of different species?"

"No sir."

He nodded, opened his computer and typed out something I couldn't quite read from my position. I tried reading his expression for telltale clues but that was a waste; I may have had better luck trying to read a concrete wall.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" Pallin yelled.

Garrus walked in, breaking into a small smile when he saw me. The hell is he doing here?

"Hey Garrus," I said, twisting in my seat to face him.

"Hey partner," he replied, taking a seat next to me.

I'm sorry, what? "Partner? What do you mean partner?"

"What do you think he means Mr. Quinn?" Pallin asked. "He's your partner."

"So... I'm hired then? I'm an Investigator?"

"Of course. You've been employed at C-Sec for a few hours now," Pallin said.

I raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Garrus, who nodded. "You already hired me before I walked in?"

"Yes, the Council wants me to 'broaden C-Sec's ethnic horizons' as Tevos put it. We are being forced to hire a more genetically diverse clientele to appease the citizens who are fed up with seeing only turian Investigators." There was a certain hint of disdain in Pallin's voice. "I would prefer having a say in the matter but it appears I do not."

Huh, that's really lucky of me. Or not, depending on how you look at it. Either the Council has started growing a heart or Gatsby forced their hands. Probably the latter. "So then, what was the point of this? Why do this if I'm already employed?"

"To judge your character," he said with neutral inflection. "I wanted to make sure I wasn't hiring some hot-headed human fresh off of Earth."

"And how did I do?"

"Acceptably. You showed that you weren't expecting me to hand you the job. Or you maintained a good facade that you weren't." I'm never going to win with this guy am I? "Either way, we'll see your true intentions in the future." He turned to Garrus. "Vakarian, I want you to get him enrolled in all the required training regiments."

"Yes sir," Garrus said, standing. He motioned to me with his hand. "Come on Quinn, let's get you started."

I stood up and was about to exit the room when I stopped and faced Pallin. I gave him my best military salute which felt rather terrible in execution. "Thank you sir, you won't regret this."

"Spirits save me if I do."

**July 1, 2186**

**9:65, GST**

**Location Unknown**

_"A lot of people seemed to paint Pallin as a super xenophobic assho-, oops sorry, almost did it again. Gotta get more control over that. Well, most people in my universe saw Pallin as a very bad guy and he wasn't. Sure, he was a strict by the books kind of guy and there was no doubt he was racist, but he was very professional. Never treated me outwardly any different than the other Investigators. And he only called me a pyjak to my face a couple of times max. So yeah, I never really liked Pallin but I respected him for keeping his opinions to himself. Especially after I learned about his past, but that's a story for a later date._

_"Anyway, next on the list is my Investigator training. Totally not what I was expecting. In my mind, the best case would be some quick weapons training for one day and then they'd send me off to be a cop, no strings attached. No such luck. I had to undergo long and VERY boring classes on C-Sec rules, regulations, laws, citizen rights, and a bunch of boring stuff like that. They even made me memorize the one hundred and thirty seven regulations on why I'm not allowed to go on the roof of the Presidium for Christ's sake. I still remember them too. They're etched forever into my brain._

_"So that lasted for a couple weeks give or take. Now normally, it should've taken a lot longer than that to get me up to speed on all the endless amounts of regulations on the Citadel. But Pallin was breathing down the necks of all my teachers the whole time, forcing them to move faster with me. Something about getting me out on the streets to prove to the Council he had actually hired me, I don't really know. But the result of this was that I had SO much work to do. High school was nothing compared to this. Now, being transported to another universe against my will and never seeing my family again, that was bad. Pretty bad, honestly. But now I had to do homework again, stacks of the stuff. It was horrible._

_"Meanwhile, I still had no place to live. Gatsby hadn't given me a deed to a house so I was homeless. I was sleeping in alleyways, behind stores, anywhere quiet really. Really didn't help the whole depression thing I had going either. I didn't go hungry though, the snack bar at C-Sec headquarters made sure of that." The man chuckles. "Really awkward explaining to a salarian officer why you're stuffing your face with donuts and coffee like you'll never eat again. Or explaining to a turian why you're shaving in the bathroom using a rusty razor. Well, after a week I managed to convince Pallin to give me my first paycheck early. I could only buy a couple new outfits because twenty first__ century clothes cost an ungodly amount of credits and I sure wasn't going to buy those flamboyant modern clothes . . . no offense. But I had enough to make sure I didn't go hungry. So I was pretty much a street urchin for a good while there, not very glamorous._

_"But eventually I did get to actual combat training. Weapons, omnitools, the like. I remember I cracked a rib by firing a Katana shotgun too close to my chest. Hurt like hell. Garrus wouldn't let that one go for a long time either. But I'll skip over that because I honestly was pretty terrible starting out. Firing a gun in real life is FAR different from video games. In video games you don't need to account for proper firing stances, the weight of the gun, proper technique and the sharp recoil. I could probably have hit the broad side of a barn but not a moving target._

_"Oh! I almost forgot! One of the first things I had to do when I got hired was get a physical, to make sure I wouldn't drop dead on the job or something." The man laughs. "God, that doctor was so confused that day."_

**16:96, GST**

"I don't understand how this is possible Michael!" the salarian doctor repeated for the thousandth time, exasperated.

"What?" I said. "I don't understand the problem here."

I was currently in the C-Sec headquarters med clinic, sitting shirtless on one of the many beds. The whole room was filled with futuristic looking machines that I couldn't identify for the life of me, with long swinging arms and beeping screens. The salarian doctor in front of me was pacing back and forth, his blue face scrunched up in concentration. Garrus was also in the room, though he was just standing off to the side and watching the whole thing with an amused expression (I think, turian faces are really goddamn hard to read).

The salarian doctor stopped and stared at me. "You don't understand the problem? You shouldn't be alive right now Michael!" He waved a datapad in my face, which held my medical records courtesy of Gatsby. "You haven't had _any_ of the fifty four required vaccinations! Any of them! Do you realize the health risks you are posing to everyone around you by walking around without any protection against disease?"

"No," I said, looking at the floor. I should've seen it coming really. I was in the future after all, medical technology would've advanced about 180 years in my absence. It was inevitable that a doctor would come along and point out I'm not genetically perfect like everyone else. Though I had been hoping I could stall it a little.

He shook his head. "You haven't had any gene therapy either, something every human child is supposed to go through in utero! Why haven't you under gone any of these procedures Michael?"

"Could you . . . could you call me Quinn please?"

The salarian placed his head in his hand. "Answer the question."

Uh. . . .

"My parents were purists?" I offered. "Not really into the whole splicing business?"

"Gene therapy is required by law," he said, unamused. "Any self-respecting hospital would have required you to undergo it."

"I was raised in a backwater colony called . . . Tiptree. Yeah."

He scanned through the datapad in his hands. "Your records state you grew up on Earth. And even if you did grow up on a colony, I'm fairly sure they have laws there too Michael."

"Quinn."

"Yes Quinn, whatever you want. Just answer my question."

"Would you believe me if I said I was raised by wolves?"

He looked up and glared at me. "No."

"What are wolves?" Garrus asked curiously.

"Look them up," I said. He flicked a mandible and started typing on his omnitool. I turned to the salarian. "So, besides my lack of viral protection, am I healthy?"

"Remarkably yes. You're in decent physical condition, enough so for me to give you a pass." Judging by his face, I think if he had been human he would've been raising an eyebrow. "Though there is still the matter of your vaccinations. . . ." He pulled up his omnitool and started walking away. "I'll have to discuss this with the other doctors, excuse me." He stopped at the other end of the room, talking with someone over the line.

"You were raised by one of these?" Garrus came over and showed me a picture he had found on the extranet. It was of a wolf, snout covered in red blood, gorging itself on a freshly slaughtered deer.

I snorted. "Oh yeah. Raised in the cold Siberian snow, wearing fur pelts to stay warm, killing all my meals. Had to hurt a few of them to establish dominance, you know how it goes. Made me the man I am today." I gave him a fake growl for emphasis.

Garrus' mandibles twitched and he started browsing through the pictures. "That's . . . interesting." He stopped on a picture of a pack of wolves tearing apart a poor buck, ripping it limb from limb and showering the snow in blood. "They don't seem too friendly."

"You know they can fly right?" I said, before I could really think of what I was saying.

"Really?" he asked, surprised. "I don't see how."

I bit my tongue. "They have wings on their backs, beneath the fur. It folds out of their bodies."

"How?" He studied the picture. "They don't seem aerodynamic at all."

"I don't know man, it's fucking nature; I'm sure you have weird crap like that on your planet." An idea popped into head. "You can even ride on one if you're fast enough to mount it."

Garrus' eyes widened. "Have you?"

Oh my God, he completely believes me! This is perfect! "Bunch of times. Greatest experience in the galaxy."

"I might have to try that sometime." He pulled up another picture of a wolf, this time carrying the bloody head of a rabbit in it's maw. "Or maybe not."

"Okay, well we have a solution to this . . . dilemma," the salarian doctor stated, returning. "The other doctors recommended starting you on the vaccinations and therapy now, instead of later."

"Where exactly are the wings Quinn?" Garrus asked. "I can't see them anywhere."

The salarian turned to Garrus. "Wings? Vakarian, those animals don't-"

"So doctor!" I said. "When can we start the vaccinations?"

He looked between us, Garrus examining a picture of a wolf and tracing a talon along the back of the creature and me sitting on the bed, trying my hardest not to laugh. He seemed to understand what was going on because a slight smile touched his mouth. "Right away." He went over to the counter and pulled out a few jars of a clear substance and a hypodermic needle. He jammed the needle through the lid of the jar, pulling up the substance.

Garrus pressed his omnitool screen in front of me. "Can you show me where they are? None of the pictures show them with wings."

"You'll have to look harder buddy."

The salarian doctor returned, the needle filled with a clear liquid. "This is one of the first of many to come." He swabbed off my bicep and prepped the needle, point just touching my skin. "Little warning, you may feel slightly dizzy after this."

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by sligh-"

The doctor pressed the needle through my skin and injected the substance into the artery. He greatly overexagerrated slightly. A shockwave of numbness rolled through my body, coursing through me like a serpent. It spread throughout my chest and neck. My heard started rolling back and forth, uncontrollable. The world grew fuzzy and distant. I lost my balance and fell backwards onto the bed, the world stretching outwards in front of me.

"Is he alright?" Garrus asked, his voice very far away.

"He should be," the doctor replied. "That was just the sedative. He'll be awake in a couple hours."

"Good, then maybe he can tell me where those damn wings are. . . ."

**July 1, 2186**

**9:68, GST**

**Location Unknown**

_"Gene therapy sucked, for lack of a better term. I had to go in there almost every other day and have that guy inject me with a shitlo-, with a lot of drugs. My arm was practically Swiss cheese by the time I got finished with that. Although it did have some nice effects on me. Made me heal faster, which is very useful for someone like me who practically tries to get shot all the time. And I swear my hair is shinier now too. So I can't really complain I guess, at least the doctor had the courtesy to knock me out most times._

_"But, then again, that was basically the whole theme of my entire training time in the Academy; everything sucking. Weapons training? I did so bad my first time Garrus refused to help train me with other people in the room, to 'protect his image'. Which you might say was pretty vain on his part but you also weren't there to actually see me shoot; I was so bad that any self-respecting marksman would immediately shoot themselves in order to not be in the same plane of existence as me. Yeah. No exaggeration at all. I was terrible, as any other untrained civilian in my place would've been._

_"Sorry, but I just have to say this; all those stories about people being forced to become mercenaries or something out of the blue? And being exceptionally good at it relatively fast? Bullshit. Yeah, I don't care that I just swore there; wash your kid's brain out with soap or something. That is so much bullshit right there that if you took all the bulls currently in existence, fed them all laxatives and had them shit collectively in a huge shit collector bowl, it would still not be nearly enough shit to represent the absurdity of that whole plot point._

_"Maybe that's a little exaggerated but my point stands; it's bullshit, flat out bullshit. It takes years of intense training to become proficient in combat; anything less and you'll be an amatuer with a bullet in your head and a hefty load in your pants. Hell, I've been training for six fucking years and I'm still not that great! On the Alliance N skill level thing, I'd be about a N5 or something. And that's being generous. Not to mention how easily they take killing someone! Do you know how fucking traumatic taking another person's life is?! It's horrible shit; I've had so many sleepless nights over what I've done, about the lives I've ended. God, I just... people think being a soldier is such a happy go lucky experience."_

_The man clears his throat. "Sorry, I tend to, uh, rant a lot about things, especially if I'm passionate about them. Which I am for a lot of things 'cause hey, I'm a passionate guy. You might notice that as I keep going on about this, especially when I get into more personal matters. I'll try to limit it as best I can, I promise. I know not too many people like it when someone just goes on and on and on about something. It's annoying and really, forcing your beliefs on someone is just bad form. Not everyone's going to-"_

_The man pauses and chuckles. "Right, right. Stop ranting. It's an insidious process man, it really is." He starts drumming his fingers on his pant leg. "So, training yeah? Uh. . . ."_

_He snaps his fingers. "Omnitool training! God, that scared the hell out of me, getting a tool for the first time. Totally not what I was expecting..."_

**10:74, GST**

"I'm not doing it Garrus."

"Come on Quinn, don't be a baby."

"But fucking look at it! Surely you can understand my hesitation!"

"Listen, there's no way around this Quinn, either you do this or you can't be an Investigator. End of story."

"And there's no other way to get it on? No other alternatives?"

"No! Now give me your hand."

"Ah, fuck me."

I stuck out my left hand reluctantly, wanting to do literally anything but this. Garrus grabbed my hand roughly before I could change my mind and pulled back and prepped the device to insert the chip into my hand. That's how omnitools were installed in this universe, by sub dermal chips. In practice, it's much more efficient than an outside mechanism like a wristband because it prevents wear and tear from the environment and is much harder to lose. They were a lot easier to remove than biotic amps too, which were surgically implanted in the head and very dangerous to take out. Replacing an omnitool was quick and easy and took less than five minutes. And any schmuk could insert one, which was why Garrus was doing this instead of a doctor. Neat right?

Well, there was a major downside to this. The device used to insert these chips had a sharp four inch blade used to cut open the skin and place the chip. If you watch Futurama, remember in the pilot episode when Leela has to give Fry his career chip and she pulls out a claw with a blade on it? It looks like that. And for those who don't watch Futurama, imagine the claw arms janitors use to pick up trash, except with a steel blade sticking out of it. Then you'll understand why I'm a little hesitant to get my omnitool.

"Can you give me a countdown or something?"

"Spirits Quinn, I didn't put up this much of a fuss when I got mine. And I was fifteen."

I let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

He spread my hand out with his, getting the palm open for the cut. And he was taking his time too, the asshole. "If it makes you feel better, I'll get you a, what do you humans call it, a lollipop when we're done."

"It better be strawberry."

He clamped down with the device. It tore through the skin like butter, causing a sharp pain. I tensed up instinctively and that only exacerbated the pain. It wasn't over that quickly either. I had to wait now until a little beep, which meant that the omnitool chip was successfully hooked up to my nervous system. Each second that passed felt like a minute. I was starting to think that the thing wasn't going to work until I heard the telltale beep. Garrus retracted the device cleanly and I pulled back my hand.

I couldn't feel the chip in my hand, though I knew it was there. I flexed my hand tentatively, looking for signs of pain or discomfort. None appeared. The freakin' future man.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it?" Garrus asked, putting away the device in an overhead cupboard.

"Not really no," I said. "How do I activate it?"

"Just use your brain," he said, tapping a talon to his head. "Think of opening it and it will."

What the hell kind of instructions were those? Just think about it? Was that really how it was supposed to work? I focused on the palm of my hand, a trickle of blood leaking out of me. I concentrated my mind on the little electronic device in my palm. Open, I thought.

The omnitool appeared out of thin air onto my arm, perfectly contorting to my arm's dimensions. It was upside down, so I flipped my arm back to its original bend. It looked just like the one from the games, a big open circle on the hand and a keyboard along the forearm. I started laughing and cheering for performing this small, meaningless task. I couldn't help it; it just felt so badass to have it appear like that on my arm. I quickly closed and opened the omnitool repeatedly, getting the hang of it.

"If you're done playing with it, we can begin," Garrus said, sounding like a tired schoolteacher. I opened the omnitool obediently. "Okay, first hit the home button." I scanned the keyboard, found the button and pressed it. The screen changed instantly, the keyboard being replaced by a blank screen with little square images lined in a row. It looked like the home screen of an IPhone. "Now this is the C-Sec issue omnitool, manufactured by Kassa Fabrications and top of the line. You should see a few applications like flashlight and camera right?" I nodded. "Okay, now open the application called Detective Tools." I found the app and opened it. All the other apps disappeared, replaced by new ones. "Most have fairly obvious uses like Ultraviolet and DNA scanner, I'm sure you can figure those out. That's basically it on the technical side anyway. Most I can show you in the field."

"Seems pretty easy; just point and click," I noted.

"Hey, it's much harder than that," Garrus said. "Sometimes the applications don't show up or it doesn't load right away. Once, I had to wait a whole minutefor an Overload to charge. It was awful."

I chuckled. Garrus was just as sarcastic as I remembered.

I started to fiddle with the device some more. My general opinion of it so far was that it was fucking awesome. Although there was one thing I wanted to find… "Hey Garrus, how do you do an Overload?"

"First, I would watch where you point-"

I ignored him. I found the button, a red rectangle with OVERLOAD written across. Oh yeah, let's do this! I hit the button.

I didn't realize I had been aiming the thing at my leg.

A blue electric current shot out of the device, literally out of nowhere, and hit my leg like a blue whip. All my muscles contracted at once and I felt the hot current shoot through my nerves. My heart exploded in pain, like I'd been stabbed. My legs buckled underneath me and I collapsed to the ground, twitching like a crack addict in withdrawl.

Garrus sighed. "I'll get the medic." He sniffed the air and grimaced with his mandibles. "And a new set of pants."

"Wait!" I yelled on the floor, barely getting my mouth to work. A line of drool was involuntarily running down on my cheek.

"What?"

"Can . . . can I get that lollipop now?"

**July 1, 2186**

**9:72 GST**

**Location Unknown**

_"I never did get that lollipop either, that liar. But it was worth it for the omnitool. I freaking love this thing, it does literally anything I want it to. Need to order food? Bam, nearby restaurants and prices. Need to pass the time? Bam, any game you want in the palm of your hand. Forget your girlfriend's anniversary? Boom, tactical cloak to sneak away from her. It's the ultimate problem fixer!_

_"And the extranet. I've spent an embarrassingly long amount of time on it. Places like Reddit and 4chan may be gone but I was more interested in learning about the last one hundred and eighty years. Things like the second American Civil War or the glassing over of Israel and Palestine were so interesting to me. I was kinda sad to hear Dubai got taken out by a sandstorm of all things or that Mount Rushmore was turned to rubble by the Loyalists. And I accidently found Fornax's main site too. Jesus. Christ. Let me tell you, I've been in some of /b/'s worst porn threads imaginable and even that couldn't prepare me for the stuff I found on that site. I mean really, who wants to watch hanar and krogan do… whatever they have to do to make that work? I'll never understand some people._

_"Right, getting sidetracked. After firearm and omnitool training, the last thing on the list was close quarters combat. Cool, I thought, I get to learn how to kick ass. What could go wrong right? Well, I wasn't expecting Garrus to give me a serious crash course on the subject."_

**14:32, GST**

Garrus used a right hook, clocking me good in the jaw. I stumbled back and manage to catch my balance, the taste of blood in my mouth. I was going to feel that one tomorrow. He doesn't let up however and continues with a wide left punch. I managed to duck the blow and landed a right jab into his side, causing him to double up slightly.

"Ah, that's better. Doesn't feel like I'm hitting a punching bag anymore," he commented smugly.

We were in the C-Sec sparring room. The room we were in was a bare open room with only a few circular matts scattered around for décor. There were no fancy equipment or safety guidelines or even gloves. Turians fought bare-knuckled or bare-taloned or whatever. Aside from us, the room was empty. No referee to make sure Garrus here didn't beat my face into the floor.

Turians also apparently didn't do basic combat training in safe situations, instead just immediately placing them into the ring and hoping they survived the carnage. At least I hope that was the case. I'd like to believe Garrus wasn't using this opportunity to kick the crap out of me for no reason.

"Well Quinn, you definitely can take a punch, that's for sure."

"It's a gift," I replied, spitting red saliva onto the floor. I had taken quite a few punches. My nose was bleeding with a steady drip and my lip was split open. Each time I breathed, my ribs ached from the repeated jabs and my head felt like someone had hit it with a big rock. I know Garrus wasn't going all out on me, but goddamn he could pull back a little.

Garrus grinned and then launched himself at me, swinging wide for a haymaker. I lifted my arm up to block only to realize to late that it was a feint. He kicked out instead, two toed feet slamming into my lower thigh. Pain exploded from my leg. I couldn't fully support my weight on it anymore. Bastard was trying to cripple me.

I grunted and lashed out for a right hook, hitting Garrus straight in the mouth plate. It felt like hitting a rough patch of tree bark. Surprised, he stumbled back and I charged forward, fast and low, trying to tackle him in the midriff. I made solid contact and felt the air rush out of him but he didn't go down. I pushed hard with my feet, trying to regain some momentum, while he dug in hard with his heels, trying to maintain his balance. It was a battle I'd found myself in many times before being in the wrestling team at my high school. The circumstances were a little different however. Garrus didn't have the same joint locations as a human and was therefore immune to some of my takedowns. He did, however, have some vulnerable points I hadn't exploited yet, namely his spurs and fringe.

I brought my leg forward, which screamed in protest, trying to hook my heel behind his knee and bring him down. He saw that and brought his knee savagely up, striking me right in the diaphragm. All my breath was forcibly exiled from me and he followed it up with a shot to my side. I found my prize, however, and pulled back, his leg buckling. At the same time, I leaned forward with all my weight. He fell flat on his back, fringe smacking the floor.

I leaned forward, one hand pressed onto his chest, and brought my fist down with the other, hitting him in the mandible. Blue blood sprayed out on impact, which satisfied me immensely. He brought his hands up and pushed my face with his talons, an instinctive reaction. Bad move. I followed it up with two more jabs, one in the eye and the other on the leathery spot on his neck.

I went to strike again, but he retaliated before I could react, fist rocketing into my jugular. The effect was instant. I made a gargled noise not quite unlike the sound of strangling a cat and a hand went instinctively to it. I felt like my windpipe had ruptured. Garrus exploited this, hooking his two dinosaur feet under my chest and shooting out, launching me like a catapult across the arena. I flew a good distance before landing hard on my back and smashing my head onto the floor.

The world grew fuzzy. I wanted to lie there and clench through the pain, but Garrus was already up on his feet and heading towards me, predatory eyes ablaze. I was halfway up when he reached me and struck out with his foot, trying to kick me in the side. I rolled instinctively, narrowly dodging his blow which came by close enough to feel.

I jumped up, on the balls my feet, expecting another charge. Garrus stayed where he was, fists raised, ever alert eyes watching me. He was letting me catch my breath. Or waiting for me to let my guard down. Either way, I was using this time to collect myself. We began circling each other, each throwing a few feints, but both not making the first move.

"You're enjoying this," I said, wiping the blood from my nose.

He smiled enough for me to see his teeth. "Aren't you?"

"Not exactly."

I couldn't keep this up much longer. My head felt like someone had split it open with an axe and my eyes were watering, distorting my vision. My throat was still burning from the blow and I was breathing heavily to compensate. The blood from my nose dripped into my mouth, coppery taste covering my tongue. My leg was aching dully and then sharply whenever I leaned too hard on it. I won't win this fight with attrition. I need to take out Garrus fast and hard before he whittles me down.

Before I can think about what I'm doing, I rushed towards Garrus, trying to catch him by surprise. He was expecting it, however, and simply jabbed out quickly, hitting my nose. Blood exploded out of my nostrils, the drip becoming a stream. He tried to follow through with a left hook, but I ducked under it without even thinking and landed a hard blow in where I assume his kidneys would be. He doubled up, briefly, giving me enough time to grab the back of his fringe with my left hand. His eyes widened as I pulled down, exposing his soft unplated throat, a perfect target to-

He roared, a primal thunder that brutalized my ears, sub harmonics giving it an alien quality. Goddamn, it was scary. He hit me hard with a wide haymaker to my cheek, which made me both lose and gain some blood in my mouth. He followed up with another knee strike, this one connecting perfectly with my groin. Wow, that one hurt. My grip loosened drastically as I reeled with the blow, but I held on stubbornly, not letting go. He grabbed my extended arm and pulled roughly, while at the same time planting his leg in front of mine. I was lifted off the ground. My grip was destroyed as I flipped helplessly in the air, the whole world turning upside down as I landed on the small of my back with enormous speed.

All the wind was knocked out of my lungs, along with most of my fight. I laid there on the floor, not wanting to move and just breathed. My groin area was roaring with a fiery passion, each heartbeat sending a wall of pain cascading through my crotch. The tears were completely shattering my vision. My entire face felt bloody and bruised, the worst victims my jaw and nose. Each breath was a painful exertion and I swear my spine had misaligned itself. I looked and felt like a mess.

"Did I hurt you?" Garrus asked, standing over me.

"Just my pride," I moaned, voice low and raspy. He offered me a hand and I took it thankfully. The leg Garrus had hit was screaming in pain as I stood up and I shifted my weight to compensate. Looks like I was going to be limping around for a day or two. And probably eating through a straw.

"Sorry about that Quinn," Garrus said, looking at the floor. He looked almost ashamed. "I, uh, lost control there."

I reached a hand behind my back and pressed in, cracking some of the vertebrae. "Did I get a sensitive spot?"

Garrus nodded, still not making eye contact. A single line of blue blood was running down his mandible. "Grabbing the fringe for turians is an act of dominance. You do it when you consider your opponent lesser than you. It goes back all the way back to when the tribes on Palaven were fighting each other over land and resources. It's very humiliating and very painful for the victim."

"Oh shit sorry, I didn't know."

Garrus looked up finally, laughing. "You shouldn't be the one apologizing here."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up big guy, I'll kick your ass someday." I spat again. My saliva was now a solid red. "Can I go clean myself up now?"

Garrus chuckled. "Sure, just head down the hall and take a right. The medic there can give you some painkillers." His mandibles spread out in what I could only describe as a turian shit-eating grin. "And maybe a bag too, wouldn't want to scare the ladies."

"Please Garrus; I can get the ladies anytime and anyplace. See this right here? Sympathy points buddy. Instant swooning."

"Krogan woman do like scars," he said, a slight purr entering his sub harmonics.

"Well, uh, they're not, er, not really my, uh, so which way to the medic again?"

Garrus chuckled. "Here, I'll show you. Wouldn't want you to die from blood loss on the way there."

"Fuck you Vakarian!"


	6. Fun Has Just Begun

Chapter Six:

Fun Has Just Begun

"'Cause I'm in too deep, and I'm trying to keep,

Up above in my head, instead of going under.

Cause I'm in too deep, and I'm trying to keep,

Up above in my head, instead of going under.

Instead of going under."

_In Too Deep, Sum 41_

**July 1, 2186**

**9:75 GST**

**Location Unknown**

_The man clasps his hands. "Alright, Investigator training is over, time for the cases! Oh, I've got a few juicy ones saved up for you guys, you don't even know. Crazy stuff man. __And the first one, believe it or not, was my first case ever. I didn't even have time to really heal from my sparring match before I got thrown into this mess. But it wasn't all bad. Met some new people. Oh, and I found my first real hobby along the way too. So not too bad I guess. Although how it ended certainly wasn't the most... enjoyable experience. Definitely not on my top ten list at least._

_"Anyway, here it is. I'll call this case the… uh the… oh Red Misery! No, that sounds kinda stupid, um . . . er . . . God, I was never good at thinking of titles . . . Cruel Desire! No, that sounds like an airport novel . . . you know what, screw it, this case doesn't need a name. I'll just get started. Here we go."_

_The man clears his throat. "It all began on a warm Tuesday morning; the recycled dew was fresh on the Presidium grass and, if you listened closely, you could hear the sound of the rich being disgusted by the poor. . . ."_

**7:72, GST**

I walked through the large double doors of C-Sec Headquarters. I rolled my shoulder, trying to quell the ache ridden throughout my body. Not only was I still sore from sparring with Garrus the other day but I hadn't exactly found a great place to sleep last night. Not that I ever did really, but last night I had tried sleeping on a park bench in the Presidium. On top of getting disapproving looks from onlookers, the hard metal surface, coupled with my sore bruises, had not turned me into a happy camper this morning.

There was also another reason I hadn't really gotten a good night's sleep. I'd been having these weird dreams. Nightmares would be a more appropriate word. They'd started after my talk with Gatsby about a month ago. They hadn't been frequent really, only happening a few times, but every time it was just as bad as the first one.

It would start out the same. I would be in a forest, running my ass off, completely unaware of how I got there. It would always be night time too, making it incredibly hard to navigate through the trees. I'd smash into them, bashing my arms and knees against the trunks. I was always running from something, though I never looked back to see what. And every time I'd see the end of the forest, dash wildly for it and just before I reached it, a hand would pull me back, a feminine voice laughing as I was yanked back into the darkness. Then I would wake up shivering, feeling very cold.

I hadn't gotten an explanation about this yet. I hadn't seen Gatsby since our last talk and I doubt he'd reappear any time soon. Or ever really. Not like I could summon him by clicking my heels together. I could try drowning in the lake again, but I wasn't really that desperate for information. The nightmares were too infrequent to really deserve much attention anyway so they weren't really a priority.

I couldn't really complain though. Training was over and today was my first day as an Investigator! I was dreading it actually, so I guess I could complain. Mostly because I'd probably have to go to grisly crime scenes with mutilated corpses. Or fill out a mountain of paperwork. Garrus had showed me the amount I'd have to be filling out on a regular basis. It was HUGE. The geth hadn't even attacked the Citadel yet and there was already an overload of red tape. Not fun. My teachers had explained to me that I wouldn't see too much action so I wasn't _too _concerned about that anymore, though it still was a constant fear.

And it was really unsettling actually living on the Citadel. Not for the whole "this used to be a video game and now it's not" reason, I had somewhat gotten over that by now (though I don't think I ever really will). It was unsettling because I knew this whole place had been designed and built by the Reapers. For the explicit purpose of herding all the sapient species together in one place to decimate them quickly. I was essentially living on a giant floating mousetrap, the spring ready to bear down at any moment. It was very unnerving. I knew that the Reapers wouldn't actually be here for about six years but it didn't do much to alleviate me.

"Hey Quinn."

I snapped out of my train of thought. Garrus was leaning against the wall of the lobby, facing me. We had agreed to meet up so he could show me around my new workplace. "Let's get to work."

The halls here were less crowded as the ones back in the Academy. It's mostly just officers in uniform patrolling the corridors. Garrus led me down corridor after corridor, deeper and deeper into the heart of the building. I was going to have a really difficult time getting used to this place. If Garrus wasn't here, I'd probably end up wondering around for hours.

Despite myself, I was getting used to seeing the aliens walking around. I had been living here for a month already (living was a strong word though, surviving was closer to the truth), it was only natural that this would happen. I passed multiple species on my trek through Headquarters and I didn't even bat an eyelash. Oh look, another salarian. Not like there's a shitload of them around already. An asari just walked by? Wow, never seen one of those before. Seeing an alien didn't really bother me anymore.

God, it felt weird to think that.

Finally, Garrus and I arrived at a set of double doors. Above the doors was a bright sign that read, in big letters, Investigative Department. Well gee, that's a big hint of where we are. We entered.

Ah now here is the center of the hive. We were in a large square room filled with waist high desks like you would see in a stereotypical office setting. Almost every desk was filled with a detective, filling out reports, typing on the computer, uninteresting stuff like that. The desks were arranged in mini circles, each circle containing two desks that faced each other, in five vertical rows. Over on the right side was a snack area, with various cupboards and what looked like a coffee machine. Perfect, can't be a police station without the classic coffee maker.

As I looked around, I noticed that I was the only human in the room. Literally every other Investigator currently in the room was a turian. Pallin was really as elitist as I thought he was. All the turians in the room were male too, although this didn't really mean much to me. I hadn't seen a female turian the whole time I'd been at the Citadel. I remembered Bioware saying they didn't add female turians into the games because it would've cost too much to design another alien model. Since those restrictions didn't apply anymore, shouldn't I be seeing more female turians? Or females of others species for that matter?

Garrus lead me on into the room. As we passed, most detectives looked up and nodded to Garrus. Some even nodded to me although most just gave me a look of surprise. Whispers started spreading around the room, talons pointed discretely in my direction. I never felt more like a black sheep my entire life.

"Here we are," Garrus said. We were near the top right corner of the room, standing at a pair of desks. One was clear and spotless, obviously mine. The other was cluttered high with datapads, stacks hastily pushed away or nearly falling off. Garrus quickly started putting them away, stuffing some into drawers and tossing others into a nearby trash can.

"Seems you don't like filling out reports." I picked up a random datapad. The report had basic questions, like time of incident or persons involved, things like that. The answers were brief and as I scanned farther down, they became shorter and shorter until they disappeared completely, leaving the document half finished.

Garrus grabbed the datapad from my hand roughly and tossed it in the trash can. His fringe was turning blue. Was he blushing? "Yeah, I'd rather be out there helping than filling out paperwork. It just seems so tedious to me."

Oh crap, here comes his renegade turian personality. Better try to set him straight before Shepard (possibly?) tries too. "Hey Garrus, I agree, but you gotta do your job man. I mean, what if you catch a criminal and he gets off scot-free 'cause you didn't fill out a warrant?"

"Yeah I guess you're right," he said, not even close to finishing off cleaning his desk. "Doesn't make me feel better but I see your point." He sat down in his chair.

"Good," I said, taking a seat at my desk. "So what do we do no-"

"Investigators?" a young turian asked, approaching our desks while carrying a bundle of datapads. He took out two and handed one to both of us. "Your assignments."

"Thanks," Garrus and I said in unison, neither of us looking at the guy. He scurried away.

I scanned through the datapad. Looks like my first assignment was a murder. The crime happened at Bachjret Ward, wherever the hell that was, in a market district during the early hours of the morning. The victim was a young asari, name currently unknown. Cause of death was a gunshot to the head. At least I didn't have to deal with a more gruesome homicide like a stabbing. That was all the report really said. I was an Investigator after all; I needed to fill in the blanks.

As I read through the document, I heard some whispering behind me. Through the general din of the room, I could make out some of the exchange.

"Look at his hair! It's so stringy and curvy."

"And his hands too! How does he work with so many fingers?"

"I bet he's soft, softer than an asari."

I turned around to see two turian Investigators at their desks about ten feet from me, blatantly staring and pointing at me. When they saw me turn around, they hastily started typing at their omnitools to try and appear inconspicuous. I felt like saying something, but ultimately decided not to. Rather not cause a scene. As I turned back around, I noticed the other detectives stealing glances my way and then hurriedly looking away. Christ, you'd think these people had never seen a human before.

"Everyone's staring at me," I said to Garrus.

"They're just not used to seeing a human around here," he replied, not glancing up. "This has been a turian only job for years."

"Well, you'd think they'd have the courtesy to _talk about me to my face_!" Two turians to my right coincidentally decided to start typing on their omnitools at the same time.

"They'll get used to it." He stood up. "Let's go, we have a murder to solve."

"So Quinn!"

Aw fuck.

"Yes boss?" I turned around and saw Pallin strolling up towards our desks, hands behind his back. He had a very, very small smile on his plated face. Shit, _any _emotion other than masked annoyance directed to me from Pallin was a bad sign.

"Integrating well?" he asked, stopping at our desks. He examined Garrus' desk. "That is a gross example of negligence Vakarian."

Garrus blushed and dumped a pile of datapads into the trash. "Sorry sir."

Pallin hummed. I've noticed turians do that a lot when thinking. "See that it doesn't happen again." He turned to me. "How are you finding your workstation?" he asked, still smiling.

Motherfucker is up to something, I swear to God. "Fine sir."

"Good." He stopped and yelled out very suddenly. "Everyone!"

Most of the turians in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Pallin. It was just like that moment in a show where the record is ripped off the player, making an awful scratching noise. Just as incredibly awkward too.

"Have you all met our newest human recruit?" Pallin asked loudly and, judging from his voice, smugly.

A moment of silence.

Fuckin' hell Pallin.

"Hey. . . ." one of the turians said near the back. "I thought something smelled in here!"

Laughter resounded around the room, all aimed at me. Pallin grinned devilishly at me and even Garrus was smiling slightly, the traitorous asshole.

"Someone call the janitor!" another turian called. "I bet he's tracking hair everywhere!"

I scowled at my boss as the laughter started again. "I'm being harassed here Pallin, do something."

"Just introducing you to the rest of your co-workers Quinn!" he said, finally showing some emotion other than disdain. "No need to be offended about it!"

"Is that a pyjak in clothes or is that just me?!"

"Have fun." He walked away, hands behind his back, probably stroking his own ego at what he had just done. His walk did have a certain swagger to it, though most turians did walk a little bowlegged anyway. Like dinosaur cowboys.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath.

"Hey, hey what's the difference between a human and a varren?" A pause. "You can train a varren to shut the fuck up!"

A sharp talon poked my arm. "Spirits, you're so soft!" a turian remarked. "How do you not cut yourself all the time?"

I looked to Garrus. "You gonna help me out here partner?"

He shrugged, smiling. "I was wondering the same thing."

"Did you hear about that human beating someone in hand to hand combat?"

"No!"

"Yeah me neither!"

The turian poked me again and I pulled my arm away. "Can we go now? I'm done being the local freak show."

"Sure thing pyjak," Garrus said half seriously, waving me down the path back to the door.

"Fuck you Garrus."

"Do you think he's gonna start bleeding randomly?" one asked. "I heard they do that."

"That's only the females dumbass!"

"Hey, fuck you, I'm not a fucking pyjak specialist!"

I couldn't help but think about how much fun working here is going to be as Garrus and I exited the department, ready to start my first case.

**7:84, GST**

About ten minutes later, Garrus and I were headed along the skyline of Bachjret Ward headed to our destination. From the C-Sec patrol car passenger seat, I could see the artificial atmosphere covering the station, a pink line that extended across like a rainbow. Above it was the rest of the rest of the Citadel in all its glory, other four arms and ring of the Presidium looming over me like the buildings of the gods. Really makes you feel small and insignificant.

So I was in a flying car. I was seriously in a car that hovered above the ground without any visible means of support. No really, I was. Holy shit dude, it was weird. Once I had gotten over my initial intense fear that we would suddenly plummet out of the sky, it was a rather enjoyable experience. It was a much smoother trip then land based travel and the thing had a full three sixty degree bandwidth for turning. I was still somewhat sure we would suddenly fall to our deaths but I thought it was a fairly reasonable fear to have so I shrugged it off.

"Can I pop the window down?" I asked. It was starting to get stuffy in the car with just me and him sharing the same air.

Garrus chuckled. "That may not be the smartest thing to do."

"Why not? It's getting hot in here."

"Well, the atmospheric cover on the Wards only extends up to about seven meters or so which, I should add, we are above. So if you 'popped' the window right now, the car would explosively decompress and we would be sucked into the vacuum of space, killing us instantly."

"So not a good idea then?"

"I wouldn't recommend it."

I groaned slightly and leaned back in my seat. "So Garrus, what do you think about this case?" I didn't want the entire ride there to be a silent, awkward experience.

"Seems pretty straightforward to me." He shrugged. "Young asari, out alone after dark in a bad part of town. Perfect target for a killer. Nothing too unusual about it."

"Is Bachjret really that bad of a place?" The Citadel had always seemed from the games to be a place of safety and goodness. Sure Zakera Ward in ME2 was kinda bad, but that was the theme of that whole game, crime and decay. Surely the Citadel, home of the Council and heart of galactic civilization, would have at least a decent level of crime.

Garrus nodded. "It has the highest level of homicide out of the whole station. Killers there almost always get away with their crimes. Too many alleys and holes to crawl through to really track them." An irritated tone was creeping into his voice.

"But come on, this is the Citadel! All the movies back on Earth portray this place as a utopia, a space Garden of Eden."

"Garden of Eden?"

Right, gotta cut back on the human culture references around him. Or any other non-human. "It's a place from a mainstream human religion, basically a land of peace and happiness and rainbows and all that good stuff."

Garrus chuckled. "Don't believe everything you see in the vids." His face grew serious again, mandibles tight. "Underneath the glamorous exterior, the Citadel can be just as bad as Omega. Especially Bachjret Ward. It's the only place on the Citadel where you can see batarians."

"Batarians? Aren't they a non-Council race?" The only time I'd ever seen a batarian on the Citadel was in the refugee camps in ME3. I didn't know they actually lived on the Citadel at any other time.

"Technically yes, but we're not allowed to turn them away. A stupid move by the Council if you ask me. Batarians, by nature, are trouble."

"I doubt it's that black and white Garrus. Not all members of a species fit into a stereotype, just like not all asari are strippers and not all quarians are thieves. It's wrong to fit them all in a group."

"Please Quinn, I'm not an idiot." His hands were gripping the steering rather hard. "I know not all members of a species act the same. I'm a good example of that. But ever since the Council made the decision to place any batarian refugees in Bachjret Ward, crime in that area has risen over two hundred and seventy percent, kidnappings and red sand trafficking have increased threefold and it's now statistically the worst place to live on the Citadel. Want to call that racism?"

Wow, that's some fire there. Better be careful in what I say. "Easy Garrus, just trying to make conversation here, didn't mean to upset."

"I'm not upset, it's just I. . . ." He stopped for a moment and let out a frustrated sigh. "It's nothing, forget I said anything."

"Alright." Well damn, this is troubling. Garrus already sounds like he wants to leave for Omega. I need to keep him in line if I want to join up with Shepard in three years. If that's actually what I want.

But aren't batarians not allowed on the Citadel in the game? There definitely weren't any here on the Citadel in the first two games and the only reason they were around in the third game is because their entire forces got skullfucked right out of the gates during the Reaper War. They had nowhere else to go. So why were they here now? I doubt the Council (especially Sparatus) would let in notorious criminals and slavers like the batarians into the Citadel, at least without a damn good reason. Although, now that I thought about it, it did make sense. By letting batarians in the Council would seem friendly and accepting and by placing them in a ghetto, AKA Bachjret Ward, it would cut off the increase in crime to a designated area. Kinda deviously smart. Couldn't help but think of Germany when considering this though. But it still didn't explain the canon change.

Then again, Gatsby had told me that my intervention was necessary to save this cycle. That meant canon was already torn to shit, by a large margin. Shepard was supposed to win against the Reapers. That's kinda the whole point of the series. So if that part of canon is out the window, what else is? Everything else seems to be in order so the canon changes shouldn't be too significant. Except for batarians living on the Citadel, which is a pretty big deal if you think about it even a little.

Goddamn, this is confusing. I'm just glad Gatsby isn't the one explaining this to me, he'd make it even worse.

"We're here." He landed the car softly and we got out, heading over to the crime scene.

We were in an area I could only describe as a futuristic bazaar. The lights here were dimmed but not dark with a faint orange quality. Stalls were jammed everywhere physically possible, leaving a skinny pathway to squeeze through. Various crafts were for sale, from faulty looking toys to brightly colored alien food. The area was empty, cleared out for the crime scene. The crime scene itself was off in a small alleyway about twelve feet wide and fifty feet. A couple of C-Sec officers were milling around, typing on datapads, not noteworthy activity. A turian officer was leaning against the wall, looking bored.

And there was the body. In the corner at the back of the alley. Slumped sitting up with its back against the wall. A large purple bloodstain painted the wall like a morbid sunrise. Shit, I might not be able to handle this.

The turian officer, upon seeing us arrive, started making his way over to us. His plates were a dark brown color with red colony markings running along his nose and across his crest. He was wearing matching black and blue armor like Garrus was. He grew a big smile on his plated face when he saw Garrus approach.

"Hey look, it's ol' fuckface, gracing us with his presence!" Well now, that's a good first impression. "Guess we should just pack it up, the great Vakarian's here to save the day!"

Garrus grinned. "Well, I'm just here to look good and sign the recording contract. My stunt double can do the actual work."

"Fucking sellout, not even doing your own stunts." He brought up his omnitool. "I'll log you in." Standard procedure; all investigative officers had to be documented when they arrived and left the crime scene. Prevented mishaps, evidence tampering, all that stuff. As he typed, he glanced up at me. "So, this is the new human Investigator huh? Figures you'd be saddled with him Garrus."

"It's not all bad," Garrus said. "He makes a good punching bag." I resent that. "Quinn, this is Jaran Gollun. Jaran, this is Quinn."

"You look like shit Quinn," he said, extending out his free hand. "I see Garrus took you sparring."

I chuckled as I shook his hand. "Nice to meet you too Jaran. How do you know Garrus?"

"Him and I grew up together on Palaven," he laughed, closing his tool. "Served in the military together in the thirty second Legion for a few years. Until he decided to drop out and become a fancy Investigator. Just like his dad."

"I'd say it's better than being an Enforcer and dealing with whiny children all day," Garrus said.

Jaran's mandibles twitched. "I do not deal with whiny children all day; this is a respectable line of work. At least my job doesn't consist of pointing my arm and hitting a few buttons. I don't know why Pallin pays you more."

"What's that Jaran?" Garrus asked. "I couldn't hear you over that asari child asking for you to find her dolly."

"Oh fuck you, that was one time!"

"Mhm, sure Jaran, just keep telling yourself that."

"Hey guys, I think we're getting distracted here," I said, still laughing at their bantering. They really did act like close friends. I wonder why Garrus never mentions Jaran in game. Maybe it wasn't important?

"What have we got here?" Garrus asked, suddenly serious.

"Pretty standard vic, young asari by the name of Jilla T'Onni, found here early this morning. The doc over there can tell you more." He hooked a talon behind him. A salarian dressed in white and red was examining the body with his omnitool. "Guy's got a stick up his ass, won't talk to anyone but the Investigators. Don't know why he's here either, not like he's working right now."

"He just showed up unannounced?" I asked.

"Pretty much yeah, said some shit about it being on his way to work." Jaran glanced over to the doctor. "He's a weird one. If I had to work on dead bodies all day, I sure as fuck wouldn't want to look at them during my time off. I swear he's stuffing the bodies in more ways than one."

"Giving the stiff a stiffy?" I said with a devious grin.

Jaran snorted. "Something like that." He stole a look at the doctor again. "But yeah, that's pretty much it on my knowledge of things."

"Did she have any valuable personal belongings on her?" I knew the route Garrus was going with this one. Learned it not too long ago in basic. If the victim had any possessions of monetary value on them when Investigators arrived, then robbery could be ruled out as a motivation because, obviously, they weren't robbed. At least not completely.

Jaran shook his head. "No, she's clean. Her clothes are dirty and have been identified as stolen material. She probably didn't have any items of worth to begin with. Not a prime mugging candidate."

"Was it premeditated then? Angry partner looking for revenge?" I asked timidly. I was trying hard to not sound completely out of my depth.

"Doesn't seem likely," Garrus said. "The killer used a gun near an area with high traffic. Premeditated murders usually happen in secluded locations and with more subtle tools. This one was left exposed."

"The killer obviously wants attention," Jaran chimed in. "The body hasn't been fucked with, it almost looks like it's been placed here specifically."

"So we might have a serial killer on our hands." Just my luck, first case I get and it's dealing with a serial killer.

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions yet," Garrus said, mandibles clicking. "We still need to examine the body, find any evidence." Oh, right. That. Definitely looking forward to looking at a corpse. Sounds like a blast.

"Right, anything else you can tell us Jaran?"

He shrugged. "Just one thing. Jilla T'Onni was listed as missing about six months ago. Just disappeared without a trace. No one ever saw her again. C-Sec labeled it a closed case." He glanced over at the body. "I'd say this reopens it."

"Investigators?" the salarian doctor asked, walking up to us. He looked old, if I was any good at reading salarians. His skin was starting to wrinkle, a dull reddish green color. "Doctor Adreon. I have the preliminary results of my autopsy on the victim."

"Let's hear it doc," Jaran said, folding his arms across his chest.

Adreon cast him an annoyed glance. "Sorry Gollun, but this is classified information. Why don't you go stand at the perimeter and look threatening."

Jaran growled but obliged, stomping off with a glare at Adreon. I heard him say something under his breath as he passed but my translator didn't pick it up.

"Do you have a problem with Jaran doctor?" I asked.

"He's insufferable," he said, glaring at the retreating Jaran. "But that's not important." He opened a large 3D display on his omnitool of the body, with highlighted areas in green. "The victim died instantly from severe trauma to the brain by gunshot." Hey, thanks Captain Obvious. Couldn't have figured that one out on my own. "I detected a large amount of red sand in the victim's body at the time of death." The figure's abdominal region lit up.

"She was an addict?" Garrus asked, rather unnecessarily.

Adreon nodded. "Even at a casual glance, the neural degeneration is obvious." The cranium of the figure was enlarged and enhanced, giving us a good view of her brain. "Various receptor nodes have withered and died here, here and here. The dendrites in her neurons are stunted and deformed. The hypothalamus of the victim in particular is severely damaged, a famous sign of long term red sand use. She was certainly no beginner."

"Is there anything that can actually help us catch this guy?" I felt like I was playing a game of twenty questions here.

"Unfortunately no, I found no biological evidence of anyone except for the victim." He closed out the display. "It doesn't look promising, I'd say this case is open and shut."

"Thanks Adreon, we'll take it from here." Garrus motioned to me and we moved past the doctor without a word. Good, I hated that guy anyway. "Be careful not to step on any evidence."

"Thanks Garrus, thought I might just ruin samples for shits and giggles."

So, here we go. The body. First thing I noticed as Garrus and I got close was that it smelled. It wasn't fully in the process of decomposition yet but it still had a musky odor to it. I almost gagged, barely managing to compose myself.

"Why are we examining the body?" I asked, slightly disgusted. "Didn't Adreon already do that?"

"Those were just preliminary exams, very quick and superficial," Garrus said, kneeling down over the corpse. "We need to do the more in depth scans to find any anomalies." He noticed me standing slightly away from the corpse, not examining it. "Coming?"

"I don't want to." I was staring at it. The unnatural way the body was positioned indicated the tragic way this soul was cut off from life. The death of the other asari and salarian hadn't affected me too much because I hadn't seen them up close but now I was staring death in his face. "It's kinda grossing me out. I mean, Jesus, that used to be a person." I noted the scared and desperate look frozen on her face postmortem. She had probably begged for her life.

"I know it's hard, but we have to do this," Garrus said, standing up and facing me. "If we don't, then we'll never find the killer and he'll get away. I'm sure you don't want that to happen right?"

"No I don't."

"Then we have to do this. Not just for us but for everyone out there who might be this killer's next victim, every daughter who might wake up an orphan tomorrow. We owe it to them."

Goddamnit, he's treating me like a child. Can't he see where I'm coming from? "Yeah Garrus, I know what's at stake here. I'm not saying I won't do it, just saying it kinda bothers me, is all."

He patted me on the shoulder. "You'll get used to it. It bothered me for a while too."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not anymore?"

He shook his head solemnly. "I've seen too many in this line of work. After a while, it becomes routine." The way he said that, coldly, like an inevitable truth, sent a shiver down my spine.

"Can't see how," I sighed. "Let's just do this already." I now felt glad I hadn't eaten anything for breakfast this morning.

Garrus nodded and we bent down over the body Indian style. "Bring up the Detective Tools app on your omnitool. Open the one named Scanner." Seems appropriate. I hit the button and a light blue laser shot out of the head of the device. It emitted a cocoon like shell around the body, a thin blue aura. Instantly a stream of data appeared on my forearm, a list of medical facts. Some were trivial, like the last meal she had eaten. But others were more… interesting.

"What does it say?" Garrus asked.

"Mostly the same thing Adreon told us, death from severe brain trauma, red sand ingestion," I replied, eyes rapt on the data stream. A shitload of information was entering my omnitool from the quick scan. "It also appears Jilla had… intercourse about two days ago, though it doesn't say who with... or if it was voluntary. She's showing the genetic material of an unknown donor." That was another thing they taught in basic about asari. They didn't mate the, uh, usual physical way, though they could if they wanted to. Instead they melded their minds with the other, storing their genetic material in their... lower region. Pretty interesting alien stuff, I thought.

"Hm. I'll scan the area, try to find any biological evidence of the killer. Let me know if it turns up anything interesting."

"Right-o." He stood up and started pacing around behind me, scanning the ground. I meanwhile was trying my hardest not to look at the body in front of me. It still smelled too, a musky decaying smell of over-ripened tomatoes. Despite myself, I glanced up and immediately wished I hadn't. The gunshot wound was disgusting, to say the least. I could see the distinct path the bullet had carved in her skull, leaving a deep violet trail of destruction. Livor mortis had set in too, letting all the dead purple blood collect in the lower parts of her body. Her turquoise skin was turning a bruised purple color in the areas where her skin showed.

No one had bothered closing her eyes either. They stared at me, lifeless. I swallowed someting dry and debated closing them. I didn't, mostly because that's a really fucking stupid thing to do at a crime scene. Plus dead bodies weren't exactly the most sterile things. Still though, creepy as hell.

Who was this girl? Did she have family, friends? People that would mourn her, cry over her grave, curse whatever entity they worship at her being taken so quickly from them? How many things had she never gotten to do in her life? How many mistakes had she made? So many questions unanswered, so many stories that will never be told again. Who could do this to another soul? Cut off their chance to live, take away their only oppurtunity to enjoy the grand experience of life. What kind of sick fuck could-

I took a deep breath. Just focus, don't lose your cool. Stay calm. I read the facts that popped up on the screen, trying my hardest to not glance up at the dead person in front of me. It detailed really unnecessary facts, like what chemical her face tattoos were or the fabric of her clothes. It did reveal something interesting when it passed over her neck. "Hey Garrus, think I got something."

"What is it?"

"She's got extensive bruising around her neck and head area. Some are new but many are pretty old, like weeks old. Looks like an abusive spouse and one that hits hard at that."

"It could be a sex thing. Some people pay for that kind of treatment."

"God, you would mention that wouldn't you?"

"Just a thought," he replied, laughing slightly.

"You two find anything yet?" I turned a little to see Jaran walking up to us from behind.

"Shouldn't you be manning the perimeter?" I asked. Not that I didn't mind his company, it'd just be bad if the scene was contaminated by curious onlookers. Crime scenes and civilians were like light to the flies around here.

"Fuck that," he said, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. The plates on his face glowed as the flames from the lighter lit his cigarette. Huh, didn't know turians smoked. Or anyone else in the future either. The Illusive Man did, sure, but that was just to play up his whole "I'm cool and mysterious" vibe. But whatever, live and let live. "The wrinkly frog left anyway so I thought I'd watch you Investigators work your magic." Adreon had indeed left, probably returning to work and the other few officers at the scene were heading out too. They waved to Jaran as they exited, who nodded in return.

"How do you know what a frog is?" I asked. That didn't seem like information a turian would just know offhand.

He sucked in a long drag on his cigarette. "Saw one when I was visiting Earth. Some place called… Africa, I think."

"Do they have wings too?" I could feel Garrus' glare burning into my back.

I snorted. He hadn't been too happy when he'd found out I was lying. "No, they don't. They have laser vision."

"Oh of course, how could I be so stupid. . . ."

"Why were you on Earth?" I asked, ignoring Garrus. It was a little weird for a turian to visit the human homeworld. You know, bad blood and all that.

"Tourism," he replied simply, blowing out a cloud of smoke with his words. "So, how's the whole pointing and clicking thing going?"

"Well I've got nothing over here," Garrus sighed. "What about you Quinn?"

"Not much. The coroner'll have to examine the genetic material to get an ID on it. Other than that, there's much not much else to-" Something popped up on the data feed. "Well, that's interesting."

"What is it?" Garrus asked, heading towards me.

"'Anomaly detected on subject's fingers,'" I quoted verbatim. I grabbed the body's arm carefully and examined the hands. Sure enough, there was a dark green substance lightly coating her fingertips. I held up the hand, shivering slightly at the coldness of her flesh, for Garrus and Jaran as they knelt down next to me. "What do you guys make of this?"

"Shit, that's prumac!" Jaran said, bumping me out of the way to get to it.

"Prumac? What's prumac?" I coughed. Jaran had blown a fresh breath of smoke right in my face with his outburst.

"It's a spice made from a plant back on Palaven," Garrus said, examining the hand. "The plant went extinct a couple of years ago so it's very rare to find. I wonder how she got some on her fingers…"

"Late night snack?" I said, without really thinking.

"It's from Palaven remember?" Jaran said, taking a small sample of it on his talons. "Made of good ol' dextro DNA, she couldn't of eaten it if she wanted to. And the frog didn't say she had any in her system."

"And it doesn't explain how she got it in the first place," Garrus added.

Jaran examined the sauce on his talon for a few seconds… then popped it right into his mouth and licked it off.

"That's fucking disgusting Jaran!" I said, horrified. All the bacteria and crap that was probably on it after being on her hands for so long. Not to mention it had been on a freaking corpse ten seconds ago.

"What?" he asked innocently, taking a drag. "It's still good, maybe a little stale." He turned to Garrus. "Do you know if any stores sell prumac nearby? She might have gotten it from there."

Garrus shook his head. "Let me check." He brought up his omnitool while I sent all the info back to Base and closed mine off. We probably wouldn't learn anything else from the body and the coroner could find anything we had missed.

Jaran stuck his finger out to the prumac again, trying to get another sample. I slapped his hand away. "Hey, that's evidence!" He grumbled something low but didn't try anything.

He stared at the corpse for a little bit, burning cigarette between his talons, silent. From what I could tell, he was thinking something. His mandibles were tight against his face, plates shifting slightly, eyes rapt on the body. Whatever he was thinking must be important, he looked like he was really concentrating.

"You know, she's kinda hot."

I guess not then.

He took another drag. "Except for the whole bullet in the head thing. Kinda kills her looks."

"Really?" I said. "I thought it added character, brought out her eyes."

"You into that stuff Quinn?" he asked, throwing a glance at me. "I mean, it's fine if you like fucking dead bodies."

"No, I don't fucking like necrophilia Jaran!"

"Are you sure?" He was grinning a shit eating grin now, his teeth bared. "You seem a little defensive about it. No need to be ashamed, Spirits knows there's worse shit on Fornax anyway."

I didn't really want to think about the things that were on that site that could somehow be worse than necrophilia. God knows it would be on the extranet though, there was some disgusting stuff on there. Not much has really changed in the future.

I decided to go along with it. "I guess you caught me. It's just . . . it's just so much easier when they don't fight back all the time."

Jaran laughed, smoke escaping from his mouth like a dragon. He punched me in the shoulder, almost making me lose my balance. "You're alright Quinn. For a human."

"Got something," Garrus spoke up. "A food store not far from here that claims to sell prumac. No other shops on Bachjret Ward claim to sell it. Or at least not publically."

"Looks like we've got a lead then." Aw yeah, my first lead! And I helped find it too! Feels good man.

"You two done here?" Jaran threw his lit cigarette behind him, not bothering to stomp it out.

"Pretty much, there's nothing else to really go on." Garrus closed out his tool and stood up, rolling his neck.

"Right, I'll stay here then, make sure no one steals the body till the coroner gets here," Jaran said, standing up fully. "What a glamorous job I have."

"It's better than hunting for dolls," Garrus said slyly.

"One fucking time Vakarian!"

"Come on Quinn, let's go," Garrus laughed, leading me back to the car.

"Comin' suh."

"Yeah go, she's better company than you anyway Garrus!" Jaran called as we headed back to our car. "At least she listens to me!"

"You know I always have time for you Jaran!" Garrus yelled back, slipping into our car.

Time to follow our first lead.

Let's do this.


	7. Long Arm of the Law

Chapter Seven:

Long Arm of the Law

"Bad boys, bad boys whatcha gonna do?

Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

Bad boys, bad boys whatcha gonna do?

Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"

_Bad Boys, Inner Circle_

**8:21 GST**

"So, Jaran seems cool," I said as we headed to our first lead. Garrus was maneuvering through traffic with good speed even though he told me the drive would only take a couple of minutes. His driving was just on the verge of reckless. One particular close encounter left me fumbling for the 'oh shit' handle. He definitely wasn't a patient driver.

"He's a good friend," Garrus agreed. "We were neighbors our whole life back on Palaven. Jaran's always been a wild one, always the one who wants to do something stupid or go drinking."

"Sounds like a fun guy." I made a mental note to find out the current drinking age on the Citadel to see if I could have a brewsky with him. "Why isn't he an Investigator like you?" I know I probably already knew the answer from his earlier conversation but I thought that asking couldn't really hurt.

"He was one for a while, believe it or not. Some things… happened that changed that though."

Damn, that doesn't sound good. "What happened?"

"He never told me the details, but one of the cases he was working on went very bad. Some people died, though I don't know who. Pallin didn't fire him but he switched him over to the Enforcement department as punishment."

"That's punishment?" I asked. "Switching him over to be an Enforcer?"

Garrus nodded. "They get paid less and overall do less important work. Not that Jaran will ever admit that, of course. Investigators are Pallin's prized men, he only wants the best in there." He glanced over to me. "Or what the Council forces him to hire."

"Hey, thanks for making me feel inadequate Garrus."

"Anytime."

"So you don't know what happened?" I said. "He never said anything about it?"

"I heard some rumors but most were too outlandish to really believe. He never talked to me about it and I never pressed the subject. Jaran is damn good at hiding secrets when he wants to."

Hm, interesting. I'd have to ask Jaran about that when I see him again. Or probably not. I just met him; I shouldn't really be asking him very personal questions yet. That'd be rather rude.

We sat in a comfortable silence for a while. I had a nagging question that I wanted to ask Garrus though. It was about something he said earlier. About the batarians. He had sounded racist.

"Garrus, do you have a thing for batarians?"

"I prefer my own kind personally," he chuckled, "but everyone is free to choose what they want. I'm definitely not judging you."

"That's not what I meant," I said back, trying to stay serious. "On the way to the crime scene, you seemed to come off as pretty anti-batarian. Do you not like them or. . . ?"

"It's not like that, I'm not a xenophobe. But you can't argue with the facts. Statistically, the higher concentration of batarians in an area, the higher the crime rate. It's a true stereotype that most batarians outside of Khar'shan are criminals."

"But," I continued, "if you met a batarian, you wouldn't assume he's a criminal right?"

"I'm not like Pallin Quinn; I don't judge anyone based on their race. That's why I didn't have a problem with my new partner being a human," he said, throwing a sideways glance at me.

"Fair enough."

We sat in another comfortable silence. I was trying to piece together the few clues we had managed to scrounge up at the site. Which was almost none. There was no evidence at all of the killer, who could be anyone and done this for any number of reasons. I should've expected it really, not every case I'm going to deal with can be solved. This isn't a video game anymore, it's real. I'm not always gonna have a trail of breadcrumbs to follow.

"What do you make of this Garrus?" I asked, after failing to come up with any explanation. "We didn't really get any of evidence of the killer."

"Yeah, that happens more than I'd like." His mandibles flared a little, which I think meant annoyance. I was starting to get the hang of turian expressions. It's all in the mandibles baby, no other part of their faces really moved. "Criminals are getting smarter, I'll give them that."

"Not smart enough to stop being criminals though," I muttered.

"Well, smart _is_ a strong word," Garrus said wryly. "Less stupid is probably better."

"Amen." I examined a tall skyscraper that we passed, lit up like a metal Christmas tree. Entire arrays of them were lined up in rows around us, each shining and bustling with activity. It was pretty beautiful. "But what _do_ you think about it? I've got nothing over here."

Garrus shrugged. "Adreon said she was a duster so she probably-"

"Duster?"

"Slang word for red sand users." He glanced over to me. "You should've learned that in Basic."

"Let's just say I wasn't a great student." God, those classes had been hell. Memorizing regulations, laws, zoning requirements blah fucking blah. Thank God I sat in the back where I could sleep or else I'd still be in that place.

He snorted. "Don't worry, I wasn't either." He dipped down under the car in front of us and back up in front of it. I felt my stomach rise and fall. "But anyway, being a duster probably goes along with her disappearance. She likely got so hooked on the stuff she fell off the grid to get more of it by doing . . . less respected activities."

I raised an eyebrow. "Does that happen a lot?"

"More than you might think," he said. "Despite what the vids say, it's easier than most people believe to hide from C-Sec. All it takes is the right contacts and enough credits."

Huh, guess that explains how Harkin can be so successful being Fade. "But what about the bruises?"

"Well, like I said, people do sometimes enjoy getting . . . violent in bed. Maybe she met a trick with just the wrong kind of tastes that went too far. So they killed her to shut her up, stop her from telling her boss or her dealer."

"That's fucked up."

"Welcome to the Citadel." The disdain in his voice was almost palpable.

"Well Jilla did have sex with someone," I noted. "Maybe that is the case." Then I remembered something. "But Jaran said the body was too out in the open. If it was a bad trick, wouldn't they have tried to cover it up?"

His mandibles twitched again, rolling in a little circle. Contemplation? "That is a good point. Maybe it is actually a serial killer like you said. Though that's worse than our first theory if it's true."

"More victims?"

He nodded. "That and the media will go into a frenzy over it. Last one I had to deal with almost made me tear out my fringe with the amount of cameras in my face."

Well, that sounds fun. I just hope I don't run into Khalisah al-Bitchface if that does happen. "Did you catch the guy at least?"

"Yeah, turned out to be an elcor of all things, chopping people up on the streets for their organs like a madman. Almost a victim every night." I think I remember Garrus mentioning an elcor serial killer in the games. Probably a good thing I missed having to deal with him. "He got sloppy though, left behind just enough evidence for me to take him down."

"Good riddance."

"Didn't get a medal though," Garrus trilled, a little amused and disappointed. At the same time. Sub harmonics man, they're freaky. "Too bad, I think I'd look good with one."

"Yeah, it might distract people from your plated face," I said.

"Maybe." He raised his right mandible in a half smirk. "And if you ever get one, maybe people won't notice your pink, hairy face."

I rubbed my jaw. I hadn't been able to afford razors lately so I'd been getting some stubble on my face. Really completed my whole bum appearance. "Hey, I'm tan, not pink."

"Whatever you say pyjak."

"Forkhead."

"Softskin."

"Skullface."

"Primate."

"Birdman."

"Hairless ape."

"Imperialist dinosaur."

"Pyjakfucker."

I blinked. "Huh, that's a new one."

"Heard it back on Palaven," Garrus said a little smugly. "A little vulgar, maybe, but it just rolls off the tongue so perfectly."

"Alright Garrus touché, touché. You win this round." I rested my head against the seat.

So a serial killer huh? Fucking wonderful. Exactly what I'd feared would happen. At least he's not killing people to the seven deadly sins or anything, that might be too horrible (and cliché). But this probably meant I'd have to go to more grisly crime scenes. And that more people were going to die, if this guy was still out there. What a perfect starter case for me.

Although that doesn't explain why Jilla had vanished for six months beforehand. Unless the killer captured her then and held her hostage in his basement for that long. Maybe he did do that, locked her up in his basement, slowly tortured her, starved her, made her lose all hope of living until she was just a destitute shell of herself, crying for the light and physical companionship…

Goddamn, this job is depressing. It might turn me into a cynical asshole if I don't watch out.

Garrus descended the sky car down suddenly, presumably at the shop. We pulled out of the river of cars we had been commuting with like a pod detaching. As we went down, I noticed a very crowded market behind the store, a sea of different skin tones. Bachjret Ward was really starting to remind of a futuristic Eastern market. India mixed with Mass Effect, what a fun combination.

We touched down and exited the car. The store in front of us was very unremarkable looking, single story, and no windows. A bright neon sign was hanging above the door. "Jill's Sandwiches" it read in big orange letters. Huh, that sounded familiar. I'd definitely heard that somewhere before. Whatever, it's not important. We entered.

An electronic chiming noise rang out as we entered. The place was empty, not a soul in sight. It had a few tables with chairs scattered around, but not many. Guess they weren't expecting many customers. It had the typical counter you'd see at a Subway or Quiznos. A long countertop with the cash register in the middle and little trays for toppings and condiments on the left and right sides. And some were pretty extravagant colors of orange, blue and even a few bright pink. A door behind the register led to what I'm guessing was the kitchen.

"Just a second!" A voice called out from behind the door. Garrus and I walked up to the counter. I could hear rustling and the clanging of metal.

Garrus nudged my shoulder. "There's the prumac." He pointed to a little tray off to my right. And sure enough, there it was, the same dark green substance on Jilla's body.

"It looks new." The surface of it was smooth and unperturbed. Definitely didn't look like someone had stuck their hands in it.

"He might've changed it from last night." Garrus leaned on the counter with his hands.

The door opened and a young human man walked out, a wide, artificial smile on his face and messy dark hair hanging over his eyes. "Morning gentlemen, how can I-" The smile was dashed off his face when he saw our Investigator badges. He took an unconscious step back, towards the door he came from. "Shit, you're C-Sec."

"Hello sir," Garrus began diplomatically, "we're Investigators Vakarian and Quinn. We'd like to ask you a few-"

"That bitch is a liar!" the man shouted, eyes widening at us. His arm came out from his side slightly, towards a counter next to him. A counter with a knife on it.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Whatever that asari bitch tells you is a lie, I didn't fucking do anything!" His hand went an inch closer to the knife.

"Sir, calm down," Garrus said, holding up his hands calmly. "We just want to ask you a few questions about-"

"Fuck you!" He finally grabbed the knife and held it out at us. "I'm not going to jail!"

Time to get serious. Garrus and I grabbed our pistols and leveled them at the man, who at that moment looked like a caged animal. "We have guns dipshit," I said, "the hell do you think you're going to do with that?"

He looked desperately between us, knife shaking visibly. "Shit!" He threw the knife at us like a Frisbee. My legs buckled under me without thought and I felt the razor sharp blade skim past my cheek. I hit the ground on my back, hearing the knife bounce of a table. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man make a break back through the door.

"After him!" Garrus shouted, already up. He vaulted smoothly over the countertop and raced through the door. I followed and tried sliding over the countertop. I hadn't accounted for the cash register and knocked my foot clean into it, causing a loud crash and a very rude curse that would've gotten me disowned.

As I ran through the door, a packet of flour flew past my face from the left. The room was small and narrow, the walls lined with packets of ingredients. I saw the man running for another door. He threw another packet, this one colliding solidly with Garrus' head. Garrus stumbled and grunted, losing some momentum. The man charged through the door. I caught up to Garrus and we both quickly followed out the door.

We entered out into the market I had seen earlier. And the man had vanished. Humans, turians, salarians, asari. All were mingling and browsing aimlessly, a shifting sea of patrons. The man could easily vanish in this crowd.

"Where'd he go?"

"That way!" Garrus pointed off to our left. The man was charging through the crowd like a mad bull, knocking over everyone in his way. He floored a poor asari as she stepped out in front of him. We pursued him.

Fighting through the crowd to get to the man was like fighting through a row of bamboo. People had incredibly slow reflexes and would simply stand in front of a fleeing suspect and the two pursuing officers until one of them knocked them over. Even Garrus and I's shouts of "C-Sec! Step aside!" did nothing to motivate these people to move out of our way. I now felt sympathy for all the cops who have to swerve away from by-standing cars to catch a suspect. It's really goddamn annoying.

And this guy was a bulldozer. He was ramming people out of the way, never bothering to side step or swerve around. It was amazing he was still making a good pace. Garrus was knocking people over too, although he was wearing heavy armor. Finesse was a little out of the question for him. And he was keeping up rather well for wearing such bulky apparel. He was remarkably in shape.

We kept pace with this guy, running through the market. We passed by numerous types of shops in our pursuit. Alien smells worked their way through my over active nostrils. Some smelled metallic, some intoxicatingly sweet. I swear I even smelled chicken. I saw a volus merchant selling out of date omnitools, a scantily clad asari tattoo artist, and a human hairstylist with pink hair, among other less family friendly things.

The center of the market appeared ahead, an open circle of stalls. It held a much denser crowd than the markets, with barely any breathing room between them. It was a circular thick crowd with hardly any elbow room inside. The guy went for it and promptly disappeared into the crowd, molding into it seamlessly.

Crap, this is going to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I made to follow him into the crowd but Garrus put a hand out in front of me. "Wait, he'll slip out if we follow him in."

"What do we do then?" I struggled to catch my breath. Damn, I'm out of shape.

"Circle around, try to spot him, make sure he doesn't sneak away."

I nodded and we split up, Garrus going off to the left while I went to the right. I circled around, pistol down but at the ready, scanning the crowd. The crowd was blissfully unaware they had an active runaway hiding among them. They were far too many humans in the crowd for me to pick him out easily. And as I encircled the crowd slowly, I could see people in my peripheral vision looking at me with fear and confusion.

Then I saw him. Weaving through the crowd, a triumphant smile on his face. He was heading in my direction, almost at the edge of the crowd. Then he saw me. He mouthed the words "oh shi-" before turning and ducking back down into the ocean of people.

Oh no you don't. I ran forward and plunged into the crowd.

If the previous crowd had been bad before, this one was a nightmare. My personal space bubble was shattered all to hell. Multiple species pressed in on me, hot breath from everyone assaulting my nostrils. A blue hand flew up and smacked me in the face and I heard a quick apology before I continued on. The man had disappeared again but I had seen him making for the center of the crowd and so that's where I headed.

I was very sorely tempted to let off a round and disperse the crowd but how that worked out last time stopped me from doing it. The guy would probably just slip out in the confusion anyway, better to keep my gun down.

A turian bumped into me hard, knocking me back into a group of salarians. "Watch it human!" one of them said, pushing me back forward. I was thrown back into another turian, who growled and pushed past me. So much for respect for authority in this place.

I tried looking for the guy again but he had disappeared. And crap, I'd left my flank open for him to vanish through. Not good. Maybe if I could-

My train of thought was interrupted by a fist smashing into my temple, which sent me sprawling to the ground. Surprised, my gun flew from my hand and clattered on the floor. Someone screamed and a small circle was formed around where I'd fallen.

I lifted my head, looking for my gun. A boot kicked down immediately on my head and sent me back down to the floor. The world grew fuzzy and I could feel warm blood starting to run down my head. I got up on my hands and knees and looked to see my attacker.

"Just stay the fuck down man!" the suspect yelled, pointing my gun at me. Shit.

"He's got a gun!" someone in the crowd said. The circle we were in instantly widened by a good ten feet but almost no one ran away. They all wanted to see what happened here. Animals.

"Listen buddy," I started rising up on my knees, hands in the air. "Calm down, don't d-"

"I said stay down!" Spittle flew from his mouth and my gun was shaking visibly in his hands. It was obvious that this was his first time ever holding a gun.

"Okay, okay!" I sat back down on my haunches, hands in the air. My head was throbbing painfully. The guy took a menacing step towards me, trying to intimidate me. And it worked too. I was scared shitless that this guy was going to shoot me, not because he looked tough but because he looked like a man willing to chew his arm off to escape. He just might pull the trigger.

His nostrils were flaring as he sucked in each breath like a drowning victim. "Look man, I don't want to kill you, but I fucking will if I have to!" He glanced around hurriedly. "Tell your fucking turian to back the fuck of-"

A shot rang out. Everyone in the crowd started screaming and scattering. I fell down on my back, in a desperate and admittedly useless attempt to dodge a bullet. The man stumbled to his left, brought my gun up and fired blindly a couple times before taking off down a new route in the market.

I laid down on the ground for what felt like centuries but what was probably only a few seconds, hands racing over my body, looking for wounds. I didn't feel anyway. I was ok. The sigh of relief I let out at that moment was perhaps the greatest feeling of my life.

"Quinn!" Garrus was suddenly at my side, kneeling over me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded once, shaking slightly. Jesus, that was too close. I almost died again. And the bastard stole my gun! We really needed to catch this guy now. Garrus pulled me up and then we were running.

The chase was on again.

The running was thankfully much easier this time around, now that the crowd was either ducking out of the way or running away from us. Many would scream as the man ran past. Some parents clutched their kids in fear. I even saw one human dive over the counter to avoid us, knocking over the food that had been on there. Pretty classy.

The guy ran through an intersection of the stalls. He barreled through the middle and Garrus and I went to follow. But a nearby krogan decided this was his fucking time to come out from behind the corner of a stall. One second I'm running and the next I'm met with half a ton of pure turtle muscle. I bounced off the man like a fly and fell on my ass.

"What the hell?" he shouted in a very low voice, not stumbling at all. He'd been carrying a thick yellow drink that I had splashed all over his shiny armor. The glass itself had shattered on the ground. The man growled and glared at me on the floor.

Oh shit.

"Sorry sir!" I scrambled to my feet and half dove, half ran towards him, where Garrus was still chasing the man. The krogan roared and swung at my head with his sledgehammer arm. I barely ducked under it, feeling the loud _whoosh_ as decapitation narrowly passed me by. I flew through another mass of civilians, trying to lose _my_ pursuer. There was another loud roar behind me but no sound of a krogan tearing through people like butter. I think I was good.

The man and Garrus were a reasonable couple dozen feet ahead of me now, working through the disturbed crowd. People were screaming now as all three of us ran by, jumping and cowering out of the way. Thank Christ for salarians though, those little buggers fell like bowling pins when you ran into them. Charging through them was much, much easier than hitting the stockier species like the turians. Gotta hand it to them, they made great chaff to knock over.

Garrus was almost at the man now, just a few feet behind him. The man noticed and pumped his arms harder, trying to speed up. Garrus stretched out a hand, the man's shirt just in reach, the end of the chase so close-

Then, as if the god of Hollywood clichés was watching us, a fruit cart rolled out from an alleyway, filled with a plethora of fruits and wheeled by a bored looking human. The man cleared it with a very ungraceful leap, firing my gun accidentally but Garrus smashed right into it, flipping head over heels. The human swore as both turian and cart fell to the ground, with loud swearing and the squishing of fruit. A few of people gasped and jumped back around him and many screamed at the gunshot.

Garrus stood up jerkily, covered in multiple juicy fluids. "Holy shit, are you alright?" I shouted as I reached him.

A low rumble hissed out of his throat and he bared his teeth. He sprinted forward, a dead look in his eyes.

Well fine then. Sorry for caring.

We had entered what was probably the food court of the market. Food stalls were everywhere, jammed in even tighter than the others. The kitchens could be seen in the back, roaring fires and bustling cooks alive with movement, the stoves cooking god fucking knows what on their hot surface. The smell was so thick it almost became a solid matter in my face.

A salarian, just exiting a human barbecue stall with a plate of ribs, moved in front of me. I lowered my shoulder and struck him in the chest, going too fast to turn. The plate of food crunched against his body and he flew back like a ragdoll, collided directly with a hulking elcor, who stumbled back into a human couple. There was a flanged yell to my side and a turian fell to the ground clutching his food, with Garrus stumbling slightly with the impact.

"In pain: What is the meaning of this?!" There was a human swearing, then a grunt mixed with a whiny salarian cry behind me, and a turian muttering "What in the Spirits. . . ?"

Yeah, this might not look too good on the report.

"How much longer?" I yelled through panting breaths. "I can't keep this up!" My body was bruised from pushing people aside and my side was aching with a pounding. It was much easier last time when I had bullets at my back and no one standing in my way.

"Not much!" Garrus answered. His mandibles were flapping like wings for him to breathe. It looked funny as hell. "Humans can't run for long!"

"Fuck you!"

Despite all of our hurdles, the man wasn't too far ahead of us because, well, he had to deal with the same problems we did. He smashed into an asari, who created a domino effect with the patrons behind her, sending all the floor in a tangle of limbs and fringes. I saw a volus waddle along on the ground and disappear in front of him. Suddenly, the man yelled out and fell below my field of vision. A few seconds later his upper body appeared and he continued on. We passed by a cacophony of panicked clicks from the volus' suit. We were lucky he was just doing that, he did have my gun after all.

We were nearing the edge of the market. I could see the end, a railing by a ledge. The drop from the ledge was about fifteen feet and then ended in another section of the market, filled with more people and stalls. As we neared the ledge, I could see the people down there looking up at us, unsure of what to do.

Without any hesitation or any sort of glance downwards, the man launched himself clumsily over the railing. The man's intentions had been to land on the roof of a nearby stall. He, however, had not aligned himself properly. He was heading for the edge of the roof. He hit the lip of the roof hard and gasped out a harsh breath, his body going rigid. The gun flew out of his hands and he fell over the side, desperately grabbing for the roof.

I vaulted over the railing without hesitating but I had positioned myself correctly. I landed on the roof and unsuccessfully tried to pull off a roll. I slammed my shoulder and my bleeding head into the roof. Guess I'm not really an action hero. My gun was still on the roof and I scrambled for it on my hands and knees. I grabbed it and stood up, jogging over to the edge of the roof and scanning for the man.

He was already on his feet, clutching his shoulder. He looked up and saw me, gun in hand, staring down at him. He took off immediately, ducking down and barreling through the crowd. I raised my gun but immediately put it down. Too crowded, I'll hit someone. And I probably wouldn't have fired if I had had the shot anyway.

I started running along the roof. The stalls were aligned in a row ahead of me, each separated by a space of about four feet. I jumped over and landed on the other stall cleanly, continuing my run.

_This feels like a Die Hard movie._

I was making much better time than the man was. He was being slowed down by all the people in his way but I was unburdened, minus the gaps. Even still, I hung back, in case he decided to make a sudden turn. A few shouts of complaint resounded up as I ran across from multiple species but they barely registered.

The market lane we were following ended with a wall about a hundred feet down and the stalls themselves ended twenty feet before that. There was a door at the wall with a sign overhead. I could just barely make out the words Presidium Access. And the guy was making a beeline towards it.

Well we can't have that! I started sprinting forward, barely jumping to clear the gaps. I tried to get as far ahead of the guy before the stalls ran out. I hit the last stall, sprinted to the far corner and launched myself off the lip. Gravity grasped me and pulled me down. I hit the ground and this time pulled off a more successful roll, flipping on my side a few times on the ground and banging my gun and elbows on the hard floor. I managed to bring up my pistol and aim it at the man between my legs as I stopped.

"Freeze!" I yelled, weaker and less intimidating than I would have liked. The man stopped for just a second, wide eyed, before pushing off an asari and running down another lane to my right.

Fuck, I really thought that would've worked. I stood up wearily and started running after him again.

I couldn't keep this up much longer. I was breathing heavily and my heart was aching inside my chest. My head was roaring from being kicked and I'm fairly sure I'd bruised my tailbone. But the other guy was faltering too. I could see him pummel through the crowd with less strength, less force. He couldn't keep this up either.

But he didn't have to. Ahead the market ended into a long and wide open area. And at the end of that area was a fast travel console. The guy cleared the market and raced towards the console. He was just far enough away from me that he could reach it and leave before I got to him. He was going to get away.

A skycar zoomed over my head and past the guy. It pulled down and landed sideways, directly between him and the fast travel console. Garrus stepped out smoothly, leveling his gun at the man over the car. The man grinded to a halt, realizing that he was finished. And that's when I, with all my momentum, came up from behind and flying tackled him to the ground.

The man hit the ground face first, unable to put up his hands. He tried worming his way out but I pressed my elbow down on his back with all my weight. And he stopped instantly when he felt the cold metal of my gun at the back of his head. "Don't move asshole."

The guy nodded shakily. I looked up to see Garrus jogging towards us, a smile on his face. He was still soaked in fruit juice. "Nice tackle Quinn." He tossed me a set of cuffs.

"Thanks," I panted back, catching the restraints. I attached them to his wrists just like I had done dozens of times before in training. It felt half natural, though I'd never done it on a moving suspect before. "Where'd you get the car?" I asked, nodding my head towards it.

"I borrowed it," he said, reaching us. I stepped off the guy, still pointing my gun. Better safe than sorry. The man started writhing on the ground, trying to rise to his feet, pulling on his cuffs. Garrus, however, flipped him over onto his back in a swift motion and placed a firm dinosaur foot on his chest. "I don't think so. You held a gun on an Investigator." He pointed his own gun directly at the man's head. "That's clearance for us to use deadly force."

The look that spread over this guy's face when he heard those words would've been hilarious in any other situation. He looked like he might piss himself. "N-no please, I'm sorry! I didn't want to go to jail!"

"You should've thought of that before you almost shot my partner!" Garrus pressed down with his foot to emphasize. I heard an audible crack and the man cried out in pain. His face was turning a bright purple.

This is going too far. I laid a hand on Garrus' shoulder. "Hey ease up; we don't want to kill him." He turned to me and for a split second I saw how dark his eyes were. Then he softened the pressure, not taking his foot off the guy. The man sucked in a breath loudly and desperately. I nodded and kneeled down by the guy's head. "Look pal, all we wanted was to ask you some questions. You kinda screwed yourself over by running from us."

"I'm sorry! I just knew that asari bitch was trouble the second she-"

"Yeah, yeah, fucking wonderful," I said. "You're going downtown now, asshole."

"Hold on a minute Quinn." Garrus dropped his gun down to his side. "We came to ask him a few questions. I'd hate to waste this opportunity now."

"But . . . we have him, he's not going anywhere," I said, a little surprised. "We'll interrogate him at Base."

"Better to do it now." He was staring at the man with a curious intensity. "Before he can think of any excuses."

Huh, yeah, that kinda made sense. Probably would work better if we did some of it now while he was still unprepared. "Alright then." I turned back to the man. "We'd like to ask you a few questions _sir_, if that's alright."

"Don't think I really have a fucking choice here do I?" He squirmed again, but Garrus held strong on him.

"Let's start with your name then. What is it?"

"Can you get your turian friend off me first?" he asked, face starting to turn purple again. Garrus obliged without a word and the man stood up slowly, coughing to himself. "That's better. Name's Matt, Matt Simmons."

"And you were working at Jill's Sandwiches last night?"

"Yeah, you guys caught me at the end of my shift." His eyes shifted between us. "Was just about to go home too."

"Good," I said. "So tell us about this 'asari bitch'."

Matt started looking nervous again. He glanced at Garrus, who was glaring harshly at him, and immediately turned back to me. "He won't hurt me will he?"

"I'm sure he won't," I said, looking at Garrus. He merely growled in response, still staring at Matt. I'll take that as a yes. "So please, explain."

Matt started scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I had just started my usual shift, at about one. Don't know why the owners keep the place open at that time, no one ever fucking comes in. So, I was in the back, getting ready to watch some vids I'd rented when I heard the door open and someone running in. I came out and this asari was screaming at me for help, yelling about some batarian chasing after her or something. I could see she was out of her fucking mind on red sand so I thought she was just having a bad trip. I told her to leave and she flipped her shit, throwing food all over the place and begging for help. She just got her hands on this prumac crap we sell to the turians when I grabbed her and threw her out. She ran off somewhere crying and that was the last I saw of her."

"You didn't help her?" Garrus said, anger leaking through his sub harmonics.

"Why the hell would I do that man? She was just some junky bitch. We get weird ass people like that in there all the time, why should I have treated her any different?"

"Because she's dead now," I said.

"Oh shit man!" he said, taking a step back. "I didn't kill her man, I was in the store all night, I got cameras and shit in there to pr-"

"We'll take care of that later," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I already knew from how he had held the gun on me he wasn't the type to shoot someone. Though you could never be too sure. "You said she was throwing the food around? That sounds a little odd don't you think?"

He looked at me like I'd just said something stupid. "I don't know if you've ever been on red sand buddy, but it really fucks you up. I've seen people eat furniture while on it, it's nasty shit."

I raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever been on it?"

Matt snorted mockingly. "Right, 'cause I'm just gonna tell an Investigator that I've done illegal drugs. That sounds like a great fucking thing to do. Maybe I'll say I raped someone next, that might be fun."

"I'd watch how you talk to us." Garrus flared his mandibles, exposing his shark teeth.

That took a good chunk bravado right out of Matt. "Sorry turian, but come on, that was a fucking stupid question."

Garrus growled and Matt took a light step back, eyes widening. I held up a hand in front of Garrus. "Look asshole, you're testing our patience here. Try to act calm and less like a douchebag."

"I know a good way to calm him down." Garrus cocked his gun, causing a hiss of hot air.

Matt lost all the color in his face. "Hey fuck you man, I want a lawyer, you can't fucking-"

"Stop!" I yelled, louder than I probably should have. This was getting out of hand. We should've taken him in by now, not stop to interrogate him on the scene. This was a bad idea. "Matt, did anything happen after she left?"

Matt nodded furiously, looking desperate to change the subject. "Yeah, yeah, after she left I spent a long time cleaning up the goddamn mess she made and just when I finished, a batarian with a pistol walks in. Now _he_ starts yelling at me, pointing the gun at me and shit, asking where that asari bitch went. I told him I didn't know, that she just ran off, and the guy fucking backhands me with the gun, telling me that if I said anything to anybody, he'd kill me."

"And it's taken you until now to tell someone about this?" Garrus asked, taking a firm step towards the guy. He's really mad at this guy isn't he? He looked ready to pound his face into the floor. "Why didn't you tell someone sooner?"

Matt finally decided to grow some balls. "Hey look turian, I'm not fucking stupid alright? I don't want to risk my ass for some druggy asari that trashed my workplace. And that batarian, he meant what he said; I could see it in his eyes. Probably would've killed me right there if I hadn't told him there were cameras in the place. So fuck her, it wasn't my problem and it isn't now."

Before I could react, Garrus brought a knee up hard into Matt's groin, eliciting a weak groan from him as he collapsed to the ground. "It is your problem _Matt_; she's dead now because you were too selfish to tell anyone. As far as I'm concerned, you're just as guilty as her murderer." He kicked Matt in the stomach, who jerked violently on the ground.

"Hey hey!" I yelled, pulling Garrus back from Matt, who was moaning on the floor. "The hell do you think you're doing?"

"You heard him Quinn; he let that batarian get away! And he pulled a gun on you! He needs to be taught a lesson!"

"Taught a les- What the fuck are you talking about?"

His plates were pushed together and his mandibles were taut on his face. Yep, he was pissed. "Do you think he'll learn from this? The most C-Sec will do is throw him in a cell, where is he supposed to learn not to do this?"

"Fucking prison! You can't just beat the shit out of unarmed men because you want to be a vindictive asshole!"

Garrus glared me down, his full six inches of height difference looming over me. It was that moment I realized how truly fucked over I was if Garrus decided he wanted to beat me to the floor. He'd never really gone all out on me before. They might have to scrape me off the ground. But after a few tense moments, he finally growled in resignation. "Fine."

Without a word, he turned away and started walking back to the skycar. "Where are you going?" I said. I'd been expecting more rage, not this.

"To return the car," he said with a neutral tone, not looking back. "Keep him in line, make sure he doesn't run again. I'll be back."

Matt staggered to his feet, moaning while struggling with his cuffed hands. He looked at Garrus with an aura of fear. "What crawled up his ass?"

I sighed. "Just shut up Matt."

**A/N: Fuck. Chase scenes. **

**Fuck them right back to the hell they came from. They are so hard to actually make interesting without repeating yourself every paragraph. Just goddamnit, I hate writing them so much, even if they can work well if written correctly.**

**Fuck. Them.**

**Not you guys though, you're awesome!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	8. Bat Country

Chapter Eight:

Bat Country

"This shining city built of gold

A far cry from innocence

There's more than meets the eye 'round here

Look to the waters of the deep

A city of evil."

_The Beast and the Harlot, Avenged Sevenfold_

**10:61, GST**

"Vakarian, Quinn," Pallin said as we entered his office. "I see you two have been busy this morning." Garrus and I sat down without a comment.

We had just gotten back from Bachjret Ward with Matt in custody. As soon as Garrus had left, he had started complaining about everything, the cuffs being too tight, not having a lawyer. He went off on a long tangent on how shitty C-Sec was and how fascist they were… until I had politely reminded him I was still authorized to use deadly force. That had shut him up quickly. He had spent the whole ride back to Base looking like he was sucking on a lemon.

Things between Garrus and I on the ride back had been… cool. I was having a hard time deciphering his mood, mostly because he had barely said two words on the way back. And his little stunt there was rather unsettling. It reminded me far too much of his interrogation of Harkin in ME2. I knew that Garrus had been a loose cannon before leaving C-Sec, but I didn't know he was willing to beat suspects. That was just unethical and against hundreds of regulations. I'm pretty surprised Garrus hadn't lost his badge yet.

"Quinn, how is the cut?" Matt had apparently gotten quite a good kick in on me. The cut hadn't stopped bleeding the whole trip back. I reluctantly had to go get stitches from one of the medics. It had been a nice human woman named Rebecca or something. She had given me about four stitches and a painkiller. And a lollipop too, which I was currently enjoying.

"Fine, sir," I said, swiveling the candy around in my mouth.

I wasn't really that fine though. I was still shaking a little. I had chalked it up to hormones but now I realized that I was scared. I had almost died back there. And it had happened so quickly too, having Matt over power me and knock me to the floor. What if Garrus had been a second late? What if Matt had been smart enough to take me as a hostage? So many things could've gone wrong there. And believe me; I was playing each and every one of them around in my head. It was fucking scary having come so close to death again. Dying twice hadn't cured me of my fear of death just yet.

The lollipop helped cope, though.

"Good," Pallin said without any ounce of sympathy. "Now, would you two care explaining why there was another market shooting in so many months?" The question was asked calmly, but I could detect a hint of annoyance buried in it.

I knew this had been coming a mile away. "We were pursuing a suspect sir, it was necessary."

"It was necessary!" Pallin said, in mock surprise. "Oh please, do enlighten me on why it was necessary to discharge your gun in a crowded market Quinn; I'd love to hear your explanation."

"The suspect overpowered Quinn and stole his gun," Garrus said, arms crossed over his chest. "He was preparing to kill him with it. I was forced to fire a warning shot in response." Well, I sound kinda pathetic when you put it like that. Completely left out the part where the guy caught me by surprise.

"I see." Pallin turned to me. "So a scared food store employee managed to overpower our new human Investigator?"

"He sucker punched me," I said. "Got me in a crowd when I wasn't looking. It was hardly a fair fight."

"He 'sucker punched' you," Pallin said. He shook his head in confusion. "You humans have the oddest phrases." He clicked his mandibles together, watching me. "Did you retrieve your weapon safely?"

"Yes sir."

"And you captured this suspect?"

"Yes sir."

"Any collateral damage I should be aware of?"

"No sir."

"Was anyone injured in this little escapade of yours?"

I paused. "I actually don't know that one." Garrus and I had left as soon as we could without checking on the damage. Thinking about it, I probably caused a shitload of scraped elbows but that was about it. At least I hope so.

"So you're telling me there may be some angry, injured civilians out there, waiting to yell at any C-Sec officer they can?"

". . . Yes."

He didn't look pleased. "Do you think I enjoy listening to whiny complaints? I have enough to deal with at the moment, I have no time for petty grievances. Spirits save you if any do cross my desk."

I shrugged. "Sorry?"

Pallin's mandibles twitched and I was sure he was going to start chastising me again. I braced for it but he just sighed and leaned forward, his hands clasped together. "You do realize that this is the second time you've been involved in a market shooting since your arrival Quinn. I am considering forbidding you access to them for public safety."

"Look Pallin, it's not my fault. I never fired a gun in either situation and I definitely didn't shoot anyone. I'm not a public menace."

"Just make sure it doesn't happen again Quinn, I'd hate to have to fire the first human Investigator so soon." His tone said the exact opposite of what his words did. I couldn't expect much from Pallin but I could at least hope that he'd stop treating me like a child. Which probably won't happen for a while. "So, did we learn anything from this precious suspect?"

"We learned that the victim was being pursued by a batarian a few hours before the murder," Garrus said. "As of now, he's our prime suspect."

"And do we know anything about this batarian? Who he is, what he look like?"

"The suspect wasn't as… forthcoming with the information, but I'm sure we can coax it out of him." Yeah sorry buddy, if we're interrogating Matt again, you're standing behind some pretty thick glass.

"Good, good," Pallin replied simply, nodding. "Do you have any other leads at the moment?"

"'Fraid not sir," I said, taking out the empty lollipop and throwing the stick in the trash. "We're still waiting on the ID of the victim's last partner. How is that coming by the way?"

"Fairly well. The coroner mentioned he should have an ID for you both very soon." He glanced between us. "Now before you both go, there are two things to discuss."

Wonderful. "Such as?"

Pallin clicked his mandibles quickly. Annoyance, I'm gonna go with annoyance. "First, it appears that your case has received some… media attention. Most notably Westurland News."

Garrus groaned. "Let me guess, it's her isn't it?"

Pallin nodded. "The very same." He pulled up his omnitool. "Her story just hit the air."

"You guys are talking about Khalisah al-Jilani right?" I asked.

Pallin didn't reply, instead bringing up a small, flat projector up on his omnitool. It stood up like a movie screen, facing Garrus and I. A video of the infamous news reporter started playing, with her talking to the camera in the exact same area where Jilla's body had been found. She was exactly as in the games, dark hair and skin, god awful fashion sense, everything.

"Murder has struck the peaceful Katom district this morning, as the body of a young asari was found brutally murdered in an alleyway early this morning. Not much is currently known about this crime but I'm now onsite at this tragic occurrence, ready to find out the truth." Wow, what a sensationalist bitch. Yellow journalism at its finest. The camera shifted and now I could see the crime scene itself, sealed off and the same as Garrus and I had left it. Jaran was there alone, smoking a cigarette and doing something on his omnitool. She started jogging towards him. "Sir!"

Jaran looked up and, from what I could see, scowled at her. "What?" His tone was impatient and had a very obvious "go away" quality to it.

Khalisah didn't seem to get the hint. "Can you tell us anything about this murder sir?" She stopped a few feet in front of him. The camera flashed its light in Jaran's face, illuminating his dark plates and moving so Khalisah's face was now off camera.

He stared at her for a few moments. "No." He exhaled loudly and a cloud of smoke shot into where Khalisah's face was, making her cough.

"No?" she said, caught off guard.

"No."

"Nothing?"

"Nope."

"You're sure?"

"Yep."

"Nothing at all?"

His mandibles flared for a moment. "That's what I said isn't it?"

"What about the dead woman back there?" she asked, pointing a finger. "Any comments on that?"

Jaran glanced back, where the body was. "That? That's just a prop. I use it to scare little children. And the elderly."

"This doesn't seem like a joking matter sir."

"Who's joking?"

There was a sigh and the tip of her elbow appeared in frame. I think she'd put her hands on her hips. "Sir, can you be serious for a moment?"

"I am! There's a nice shop down on Zakera Ward, sells these great fake corpses. You'd love it, I swear."

"Shouldn't you not be smoking at a crime scene?" She waved away the residual smoke in front of her. "Couldn't that contaminate evidence?"

"Shouldn't you be off trying to demonize C-Sec?" he said, taking a drag and blowing it in her face again.

Khalisah paused. She seemed very thrown off by his behavior. "Sir, I don't try to-"

"Listen lady," Jaran interrupted, "can you kindly f**k off for me?" The word fuck was censored out and the sound of the bleep made me jump in my seat. "I've got more important things to do here than talk to you. You're wasting my time."

She was dumbstruck. I was too, I hadn't expected Jaran to be so blunt there. "Sir, I-"

"Apparently you didn't hear me." Jaran leaned in close to her, blowing out more smoke. "F**k. Off. I don't have time for your journalist s**t. Go bother someone else."

Khalisah, of course, didn't take his advice. "How dare you talk to me like that! I'm just trying to give the public some answers for this travesty! I want to talk to your superiors!"

"Sorry, but they don't want to talk to you." He turned away from her, returning to his omnitool. "I'm done talking to you. So why don't you take that little camera of yours and shove it up your-"

"This is Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westurland News! Thanks for tuning in!" The light on the camera flickered off. Khalisah started walking away apparently because the camera started flying backwards and away from Jaran. "This isn't the last time you'll see me!"

Very faintly, I heard Jaran mutter, "Of course it f**king isn't," before the feed cut off and the screen went black.

Pallin closed off the projector. Uncomfortable silence filled the room for a few moments.

"Well, he did get here to leave," I said. Jaran had some real cojones to talk to a reporter like that.

"Yes, but his methods do leave something to be desired." Pallin didn't sound _too _angry, though there was a definite note of it. Just disappointed. Like he'd expected this from Jaran but was still mad he did it. "If you two do happen to run into her, for Spirit's sake, don't talk to her like Gollun. I'm going to have to have a word with him again."

"Understood sir." Garrus looked amused, his mandibles spread in a small smile.

"What's the second thing?" I'm definitely gonna have to try and get a drink with Jaran now.

"I've received word from Adreon that this Jilla T'Onni has living parents currently on the Citadel." He brought up his tool, pressed a few buttons and closed it out. Both Garrus and I's omnitools lit up with a new message. "There's the address. It may be worth looking into." He opened his computer. "That's all you two. Dismissed."

I stood up and did a sloppy customary salute, but Garrus just walked out without a word. Feeling a little embarrassed, I nodded to Pallin and left the office.

"So, what now?" I asked as soon as the doors closed behind me.

"We should head down to Base and give Matt a 'proper' interrogation. At least until the coroner gives us an ID," Garrus said.

"Right." I scratched the back of my neck unconsciously. "Let's, uh, let's go do that." This might get rough again...

"Hey." He touched my arm lightly. He opened his mouth to talk but looked down at the floor, fringe turning blue. "I'm sorry about . . . what happened, I just . . . I got caught up in it. Having him hurt you, chasing him…" He paused, mandibles twitching rapidly. "I went too far."

"Yeah. . . ." I hadn't been expecting an apology to me of all people. Maybe more to Matt. "Just, you know . . . try not to do it again." I could understand where he was coming from. Adrenaline is a hell of a hormone, to which I could testify from personal experience. Made you do things you wouldn't normally do. So I _guess _I could pass this off as him being caught in the moment. Though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little more weary of Garrus now. If I was going to work with him, I definitely am going to have to try and keep these malicious tendencies of his in check.

He nodded, avoiding eye contact. Neither of us moved or spoke, the only sounds the patron at the bar next door.

Fuck, this was awkward. Need to lighten the mood. "Although I personally wanted to kick his ass too. Didn't even make me a sandwich before throwing a knife at me. That's just bad service."

"I don't know." He lifted his head finally and smiled. "I did get a free fruit sample."

"Lucky you. All I got was some was metal in my face." I rubbed my head. I'd never had stitches before. I felt a little like Frankenstein.

"Yeah…" He looked away again and tugged at the neck of his armor. "Listen Quinn, thanks for stepping in back there. I appreciate it."

"Hey, don't worry about it man." At least Garrus is showing some remorse here, that's a good sign. "Just, if you're going to beat a suspect, let me get plausible deniability first. I can't have too many black marks just yet."

He snorted. "Sure thing. Now, let's get down to Bas-"

Both our omnitools lit up at the same time, emitting similar pings. A new message had arrived. I quickly opened it.

_Investigators,_

_I have identified the victim's mate, a batarian by the name of Amok'Tesh. Aged 36, brown skin, missing his left rear eye from a bar fight. Currently employed at Tartarus in Bachjret Ward as head of security. Very aggressive. Multiple run ins with C-Sec, two counts of red sand possession with intent to sell and three counts of assault and battery. Tread carefully Investigators, this man is dangerous._

_Adreon._

So the man who had sex with Jilla was a batarian. And the last person seen looking for her with a gun happened to be a batarian too...

You know, I'm no genius, but I think there's a connection there. Call it a hunch.

"Well, looks like we got our next lead," I said, closing my omnitool. I was actually pretty relieved I wouldn't be stuck talking to Matt for a couple of hours. I'd probably end up kneeing the guy in the balls too. "What's Tartarus?"

"A club, down in the worst part of Bachjret Ward," Garrus said, still reading the message. Probably memorizing the details of that guy Amok. "It's a dirty gathering place for the most daring of party goers. And they hate C-Sec with a passion."

"So we, two fine members of C-Sec, are going to walk into a building full of these people. Alone. With no backup."

"Just another day on the job."

**11:04, GST**

I never thought that any place on the Citadel could look dirty. Maybe it was the fact I'd spent most of my time on the beautiful Presidium where the ugliest looking thing was the rare piece of trash in the lake. Even the places like the Lower Wards had a certain clean quality to them. The keepers always made sure trash was cleaned and any structural damage was instantly repaired. So basically, anywhere I've gone so far on the Citadel had always been somewhat neat and organized. Like any civilized place should be.

Not this district. This district in the Bachjret Ward managed to be absolutely filthy while not having a speck of dirt on the walls. As I looked through the window of the skycar, I could see multitudes of people crowded in the streets, far more than should be sanitary or safe. Even from up as high as I was, I could see many slumped against walls of alleys, emaciated forms hidden inside clothing. Some were burning fires in the trash cans, huddling around the dim flame. Fucking burning trash cans in the future, I swear to God. That's how shitty this place was. The smoke would collect in the low atmospheric cover and spread out, giving the air a grey distinction along with Bachjret's iconic dim orange lighting.

It was like Detroit on the Citadel.

"God, what a shithole. Are we still on the Citadel?" I couldn't believe that the center of galactic civilization had such a crappy district like this. How could anyone just let this go on? It was a blight on everything beautiful on the Citadel. It was an ugly sore on a magnificent painting.

Garrus nodded. "Looks like Omega doesn't it? This is where the highest concentration of batarians are located. They are the majority here."

"They aren't really doing much to dispel those stereotypes are they?" As we passed over an alley, I saw an asari sitting against the wall holding a bundle, shaking her head like she was crying. We had just passed over her when I realized the bundle had contained a little blue baby.

"Now you see where I'm coming from," Garrus said, taking a sudden sharp left.

"Yeah, it's pretty hard to argue when I'm seeing it like this." I guess some stereotypes were true after all. Batarians obviously weren't trying very hard to show they were different than their slaver cousins. "You sure that distraction's gonna work with Khalisah?"

I had been a little worried that Khalisah would show up and force me to prep my punching arm, but Garrus had told me there was a simple way to get her to leave us alone. See, not much had changed in the future; reporters still listened in on official C-Sec channels to find out where the "hottest" events were going on. It _was _technically illegal, though when has that ever stopped someone right? So, since Khalisah was looking for anything related to Jilla and was probably listening in, Garrus had put a fake message out on the channels that he and I were headed to Shalta Ward instead of Tartarus. The message was also worded in a certain way that would alert any officers that it was a fake but still seem real to the eavesdroppers. It was clever as hell, I had to admit.

Garrus nodded. "Works every time. You'd think they'd catch on to it by now, but no, they always fall for it."

We sped along over a street. A little human boy was running through the middle of the abandoned path, his little legs pounding on the floor. I was just low enough to the ground to note the dirty and tattered clothes he was wearing. He was missing a shoe on his foot too. Clutched in his arms was something small and brown, bouncing along to his youthful rhythm. It was a teddy bear. He was all alone, no parents or guardians watching him. No one was around this kid, even though he looked like he'd still be in elementary school.

My head was suddenly filled with a very old song that I hadn't heard in ages, a classic.

Well the world turns

and a hungry little boy with a runny nose

plays in the street as the cold wind blows

In the ghetto

In the ghetto

I watched the little boy until he moved outside my range of vision. I tried not thinking too much of where he'd be sleeping tonight or where he's gonna get his dinner. If he even was going to get any. I cracked my neck and glanced over to Garrus who, to my surprise, was staring at me.

"That was interesting," he said slowly.

Oh shit, I had sung that out loud.

I blushed and turned away. "Yeah, it's, uh, it's an old song. Thought it fit well here."

He hummed thoughtfully. I swear the man loved the sound of his own voice, which I couldn't really blame him for. "Didn't know you were a singer Quinn."

Huh? "I'm not. I don't think I'm that good, anyway."

"Well, you're not _that _bad," he said, swerving around a slow driver. "Could be better, but not terrible."

"Oh?" I grinned. "Does that mean you want to hear more?"

"No," he replied immediately. "I have a strict 'no singing' policy with my partners."

I snorted. "That's an odd rule to have."

His mandibles clicked audibly. "I made it after working with my last partner. He wanted to be an opera singer of all things. I thought he'd never shut his mouth."

"Do you not like music?"

"It's not that. I don't mind some occasionally. But having to listen to someone sing for hours and hours, every day, tends to get on your nerves after a while."

Good to see he's not a prude then. "Is that why he's not your partner anymore? Did he go became a singer?"

He shook his head. "He got his leg blown off in a drug bust. Had to retire early."

"Oh . . . shit, I'm sorry."

Garrus shrugged. "At least I don't have to hear him sing anymore." He glanced over to me. "That goes for you too."

"Understood." I'm guessing his last partner was a turian 'cause, you know, Pallin. A turian opera singer though? That'd be interesting to see. Might even make opera bearable to me. With the sub vocals, he could probably hit multiple pitches at the same time. Be both a tenor and a baritone at the same time. I could only imagine what a turian choir would sound like.

I did have an idea actually. I'd been curious about what alien music would sound like. So I'd looked up a fair amount of it on the extranet. 'Course, most music of today was techno so I had to dig back in history to find more interesting ones.

Asari music tended to be very vocal based, with only percussion instruments and very little of it at that. Mostly choirs but with occasional solo vocalists. They had some _crazy _altos though, hitting notes that would shatter any nearby glass.

Salarian music, on the other hand, was almost entirely instrument based, with many of the songs giving off rainforest like noises and beats. Made sense considering their homeworld. Very soothing to go to sleep to. Though, they had the weirdest time signatures I'd ever heard.

Turian music was hard to describe. Turians have a higher decibel range than humans so a lot of their songs I literally could not hear. Some sounds made it through to me but it came out too disjointed to decipher. Garrus had told me most of the songs I'd listened to were battle songs. Go figure. Krogan and elcor music was virtually non-existent, which didn't surprise me at all, but the volus actually had many tribal sounding songs with trippy vocal effects. Turns out their voices are pretty low pitched without their suits, like low bass range. Really interesting.

We passed over another alley. This time things weren't that peaceful. A group of batarians were circling closely around something, kicking and stomping furiously. No one else was around sans for the violent looking group of aliens trying to smash something into the floor. Then I saw a tiny green hand extend out desperately before falling down to the ground.

"Shit Garrus, we got a mob beating down there!"

"Where?!"

"There!"

Without a word, he pulled a sharp right turn and descended the skycar down into the alley. The batarians took no notice as we touched down and exited the car. And from down here, inside the atmosphere, I could hear the high pitched screams for help.

Garrus, before I could react, brought out his gun and fired a warning shot into the air. I flinched from the sudden volume of the discharge. The batarians looked up, surprised, and then snarled at us. They collectively moved into a straight line facing us while drawing pistols of their own. I fumbled for my gun and managed to bring it up just as the batarians started to back away. A salarian was lying whimpering in a growing green puddle of his own blood.

"Drop your weapons!" I shouted, trying to interject as much authority as I could.

"You don't own us _C-Sec_!" the middle batarian said. The salarian was now starting to crawl away from his attackers, still whimpering.

"Drop them now!" Garrus yelled, slowly heading towards them.

Without warning, three of the batarians fired in quick succession. I instinctively fell down on my side, avoiding the shots. But they had gone wide. The batarians were now sprinting away, towards the exit of the alley. I heard Garrus fire multiple times. One of the batarians cried out and stumbled, clutching his shoulder but still moving. I trained my sights on a batarian, tightened my finger on the trigger... and didn't fire. They turned the corner and ran off.

Garrus sprinted after them, completely ignoring the bleeding salarian on the ground. I stood up and ran over to his side. He wasn't bleeding too bad but he wasn't in too good of shape either. His face was swelling with the bruises and one of his horns was bent at an unnatural angle. He was panting pretty hard and I realized that mixed in there were a few tears.

"Jesus buddy, you okay?" I asked, feeling rather stupid for doing so. This guy obviously wasn't in the top shape right now.

"B-b-back off C-C-Sec," he said, through gritted teeth. He got to his hands and knees, spitting up a mouthful of blood. I thought I saw some teeth in there too.

I was going to reply, but another gunshot cut me off. Garrus was firing his gun outside the alley. A returning shot hit him in the shoulder, causing him to stumble back. I hopped over the salarian and sprinted over to him immediately. He leaned against the wall, holding his shoulder with a pained face (as pained as it could be). I took a firing stance just outside the alley.

The batarians were moving down the street, scattering towards other alleys along the way. One batarian turned, starting to run backwards and fired at me. I ducked back in as the bullets slammed into the wall. My heart jumped at every single bullet that stopped in the metal a few inches from my body, no matter how thick I knew the walls were.

The salvo stopped as suddenly as it had started, the echoes bouncing away through the streets. I prepped myself and popped back out, not fully ready to fire back. But I didn't have to.

The street was empty. The batarians had all vanished, leaving not a soul left. Talk about street rats.

"You okay?" I shouted, still scanning the street, waiting for a batarian to pop up at any moment. I probably should've been chasing them but they had all split off into different alleys. The two of us couldn't track all of them. They were gone.

"Fine." He breathed slowly. "Armor stopped the shot."

"You sure?" My heart was pounding in my chest. Endorphins were coarsing through me and I now felt like I could run a marathon.

"Yeah." He grunted behind me. "I'm good." He stepped out of the alley as I slid back into the corner cover. "They got away."

I lowered the gun and turned to him. "The salarian's still bleeding by the way."

"I needed to secure the area first." He rubbed his shoulder. I could see a small black char where the bullet had impacted, along with a visible puncture.

I guess he was right. Couldn't really help him if people were still shooting at us. "We need to call an ambulance, he's in bad. . . ." I stopped when I looked back at the salarian. He had disappeared. There was no blood aside from the thick green puddle in the middle. And there was only silence. Nothing moved in the alley. ". . . shape."

"Tough little guy," Garrus said. "Most wouldn't be walking after that."

"Fuck, we need to find him; he's not gonna last long." I started to jog back down the alley. He hadn't left a blood trail behind him. It might be a little hard to track him.

"Don't bother."

I whirled around, startled. "What? Are you saying we should just let him bleed out on the streets?"

Garrus flexed his mandibles. "We have to. Remember what I said about this place? This alley probably leads to dozens of other ones that link to hundreds more. By the time we've searched a fraction of them, he'll be long gone."

"But we can't just give up!" I refused to see the futility in this situation. How could Garrus be so calm about leaving this guy behind?

He shook his head. "There's nothing we can do Quinn. And we need to focus on the case. The more time we waste, the better the chance the killer will get away." He brushed past me, heading towards our car.

"But-"

"Come on, we need to go."

He was right, as much as it pained me to admit it. The alley we were in split off into five different paths, with multiple other alleys peppered around the sides along the way. If this pattern continued, then each one of those alleys would in turn feed into more alleys. It was a chromium maze. And, without any blood to point out where he went, the salarian could easily just vanish.

Fuck. My life's turning into a noire type movie. Dark as shit and terrible to live in. I keep trying to help these people and they keep getting hurt when I can't do anything about it. I've seen two, and now maybe three, people been killed in front of me. My lack of intervention sealed their fates. Some hero I am Gatsby, I'm doing a great job protecting these people.

"You coming?" Garrus called to me. I realized I hadn't moved and was staring at the green blood congealing on the floor. It was disturbing, the alien quality of it. It was thicker and more viscous than human blood, that was for sure.

"Quinn?"

I sighed before responding. "Yeah."

We got back in the car and drove off, rising back out into space. I stared at the blood for as long as I could. No one came out onto the street to investigate. I think the gunshots may have scared them. Or maybe no one cared. Both seemed likely.

"Goddamnit, how could we just leave him like that?" I said, running a hand through my hair. "The guy's probably gonna bleed out under a dumpster now."

"We didn't have a choice," Garrus repeated. He looked a little stiff but mostly unperturbed.

I laughed without any humor. "Yeah, you keep saying that, but I don't really believe you yet."

"We did stop the beating Quinn," he said, changing tact. "He'd be in much worse condition if we hadn't stepped in."

"He'd also be in better condition in the back of an ambulance right now."

"I suppose but it's not like there aren't any nearby hospitals," he continued. "He can make it to one and get treatment."

"Yeah and what the fuck happens if he doesn't make it?" I said, harsher than I should have. "Huh?"

Garrus rolled his head away and was silent for a moment. "There's something you'll learn being an Investigator Quinn. Something everyone here does eventually. You can't help everyone. Some people will always be doomed and there's nothing you can do about it." He paused again. "Trying to help them will only get you burned." There was something tense under his voice that I couldn't really place.

I nodded emptily and stared out the window, watching the buildings roll by. "This place really is a shithole," I said sadly, more to myself than Garrus.

I guess Garrus had a point. The guy could get to a hospital. Technology in the future was almost magic anyway, it could easily heal him. Might even give him some cybernetics too. But what would happen if he just fell down and couldn't get back up? Would anyone help him? Would anyone be bothered enough to give him a ride to the hospital or would they just watch him go by with reproach? There was nothing I could do about it either and that was what was bothering me so much.

The only reason I was at C-Sec was to help people. Not Gatsby telling me to be a hero. Not anything else. That was the only reason. And how had I done that so far? I'd been involved in another market shooting and had let a bleeding salarian vanish in an alley. Sure, I was going to investigate a lead on a murder but would that help Jilla? No, it fucking wouldn't. Nothing could help her. What kind of job was I doing helping these people, the ones who were being hurt by the criminals in this gilded metropolis? I certainly wasn't doing what I had set out to do. And it didn't look like the trend was gonna shift in my favor.

Fuck me, is this how my job is going to go every day? 'Cause so far it's been a spectacularly shitty day. Examining a horrible murder victim, being kicked in the face and almost getting shot with my own gun, and now failing to apprehend some criminals along with letting a very injured victim get away. This is fucking terrible, this is morbid, this is insane, this is something that no reasonable man should want to do in their daily lives. And I'm going to have to deal with this shit for _three years_? Christ, I don't know if I can handle it for that long.

Maybe I'm not as cut out for this job as Gatsby thinks I am. . . .

"Wait until you see Tartarus. That's it there."

In all fairness, anyone could have seen this thing from miles away. Two red twin beams of light were casting wide arcs around the building like a Hollywood premiere. The building itself dwarfed all the surrounding buildings by simply being two stories instead of one. It was a long rectangular building with neon like lights hugging the edges of the building in lines, each changing colors every ten seconds. The name Tartarus, spelled in all capitals, was displayed prominently on the front. The letter S was replaced instead by the curvy figure of an asari. How original.

"Seems like a nice place to bring the kids," I said as we descended into the overcrowded parking lot next to the building.

"I heard that they get free candy on weekends," Garrus said, stepping out of the car.

Despite my gloominess, the image of a hardened gangster handing a little boy a big lollipop made me snort as we walked up to the entrance of the place. My sudden humor vanished when I saw the bodyguard outside the door. It was a pissed off looking krogan, arms folded and glaring a hole through us. He had been leaning against the door and reared himself to his full height as we approached, seven and a half feet of alien muscle. He was cradling a M27 Scimitar, a shotgun that required a license I doubt this guy had. I didn't really feel like mentioning it.

"What do you want?" he asked with barely contained hostility. His voice was somehow deeper than Wrex's, which was saying something.

I wanted to act tough and assertive but it was rather hard when I realized this guy could probably tear out my spine with minimal effort. Kinda killed any machismo I thought I had going. "We're here to bring Amok'Tesh in for questioning," Garrus said, thank God. "He's wanted as a prime suspect in the murder of Jilla T'Onni."

For a moment, I thought I saw a hint of recognition in the krogan's eyes, but just as soon as it appeared it vanished. "You got a warrant, _officer_?"

Oh shit, did we? I didn't think we'd need one. I hadn't expected there to be a grouchy turtle-man body guard denying us access. "No, we don't," Garrus said. His right hand, very subtley, moved closer to his gun.

The krogan laughed, loud arrogant bursts of amusement. "Then I don't have to let you in, _officer_. Why don't you two go shoot up a market, it's the only thing C-Sec seems to be good at nowadays."

My mouth responded before my brain. "We're not here to shut this place down asshole, just let us in."

"What'd you say to me?" The krogan took a threatening step forward and brought his gun forward slightly, enough to point it more in my direction. To my credit, I didn't flinch away from him; although I had the feeling I had just swallowed my heart, I stood my ground. I was betting that this guy wouldn't shoot an Investigator. That got you some serious jail time. I just hope he was smart enough to understand that.

Hold on.

Krogan. Smart enough.

I'm gonna die.

"Look, just let us in, huh? We're going to get in here either way. It'll be a lot faster and easier for all of us if you let us in now instead of forcing us to come back in an hour with the warrant."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Not happening. You two are now on the top of my shit list. Leave before I decide to test out my new gun."

"What's going on here?" a new flanging voice asked. A turian in expensive looking clothing was walking towards us, flanked by another turian and a human. "Is there a problem gentlemen?"

"Nothing boss, these two are C-Sec; they want to take Amok for something."

Boss? I took another look at this turian. He seemed, by all means, very well groomed. His colony markings, a simple green coloring on his mandibles, appeared fresh and thick. I didn't know if he was wearing a fancy suit, but it definitely had a rich flair to it. And I swear his fringe looked like he had waxed it or something, judging by the way it was shining in the glow of the neon lights. He could afford personal security for himself too, it seems. Although the human who had been at his side was now walking away from us, talking into an earpiece. He seemed to be whispering, even though we were out of range. Wonder what that was all about.

The turian turned to us, seeming to size us up. "And why would that be Mr. . . ?"

"Investigator Vakarian," Garrus said, nodding to the other turian. Ah, that's right; most other species don't shake hands when they meet. Guess it's just a human thing. "And this is my partner Quinn." I just nodded like Garrus did.

Much to my surprise, the turian stepped forward and offered his hand out to me. "I know you humans are fond of this gesture." I reached forward and shook his hand without a word. "I'm Nehlon Tornnus, owner of this fine establishment. What do you two need my head of security for?"

"He's the prime suspect in the murder of Jilla T'Onni," said Garrus.

Nehlon's mandibles twitched slightly. I wasn't the greatest at reading turians, but I was fairly sure it was a sign of annoyance. "We can discuss this in my office. Please come in." He brushed past us with his turian guard behind and his other human guard quickly getting in place. Garrus and I exchanged a glance and followed. The krogan gave me a nasty look as we passed and entered the club.

The music hit me like a speeding brick wall. The walls of this place must have been lined with something very thick to completely block out this kind of noise. It vibrated through my entire being, teeth chattering uncontrollably from the sheer force. It was almost palpable around me, the sheer weight of the sound waves seeming to weigh me down. It wasn't even really a song, just a repetitive bass line mixed with a cookie cutter beat and annoying technical distortion. Such was the musical genius of the future.

And then there was the club itself. Immediately in front of us on the left was a glowing blue bar, shelved with dozens of bottles of liquor, which spanned the entire left wall. Off to my right was the dance floor, which was surprisingly crowded for the time of day. Every race on the Citadel was moving and twisting to the song. They were a single entity, a multi jointed beast contorting to the beat, lost to its power. The strong smell of sweat from numerous species hit me slightly less hard than the music itself. Small booths, barely big enough to notice let alone sit in, lined the other walls.

Nehlon waved a hand for us to follow, swerving his way through the bar patrons with ease. No one paid us much mind, much to my relief; I had been worried that we'd have to draw guns on these people after what Garrus had told me. Instead they were focusing on more primal urges with their fellow patrons. One drunk human fell to the ground in front of me, having been slapped by an asari. He groaned on the floor and I stepped over him calmly. And I saw another asari hitting on a salarian, who looked completely oblivious to what was happening to him. A turian at the bar was trying very hard to muzzle a human woman's neck, much to her chagrin. If I wasn't on an important lead, I could probably people watch here all day.

"What the hell is this?"

I turned to see an incredibly inebriated batarian, clutching a bottle half full of green liquid, separating from the herd of people and making his way over to us. "You're letting C-Sec in here Nehlon?"

Nehlon sighed, barely audible over the music. "Don't worry sir, everything's-"

"Screw that!" The batarian stumbled and took a swig of his beverage. "I come here to be away from these assholes." He suddenly stepped close to me, eyeing me with his four eyes. "And you human, I don't like you. Go back to your planet."

I grimaced. "Jesus, take a shower. You smell like shit." He did, in fact, smell like shit. Like literal shit. He must've been drinking something strong.

He sneered at me. "Fuck you!" He pulled back for a very wide strike and swung the bottle at my head. I ducked under it with little effort, mostly because the batarian had taken a few seconds to even raise his arm. I could've done it in my sleep. He tripped into me and I shoved him off. He fell to the ground, sprawling his limbs and moaning.

"Someone remove him!" Nehlon yelled. A batarian and a turian security guard appeared from nowhere, picked the guy up by his arms and began the arduous process of dragging him outside. "Nice reflexes Investigator."

"I've learned from the best," I said, glancing at Garrus. He smiled more than a little smugly and we continued through the main area without further incident. Though I felt like I should take a shower afterwards.

We entered an unmarked door near the bar. It lead to a long hallway that turned sharply to the right about fifty feet down. Along the walls were numerous doors at regular intervals, leading off to unknown rooms. Two turians, bartenders I'm assuming, were talking quietly against a door. They visibly stopped and gave Garrus and I fierce glares as we passed.

"Interesting name you've got for your club," I said, in passing.

"Yes," he said, not turning to look at me. "The last owner, a human, named it that. Said it had something to do with human mythology, I believe."

"Yeah, Greek Mythology. It's a place where people went to suffer after they died."

"Not exactly somewhere people should want to go," Garrus said.

Nehlon gave a rich type snort, which was almost a scoff. "Indeed."

We turned the corner, which lead to a wide staircase. Once we ascended to the top, we were in another hallway albeit a lot shorter one. A few doors on the walls and one final official looking door at the end of the hall.

"You can go now," Nehlon said to his bodyguards as we arrived at his office presumably. "I'm sure our guests mean me no harm." The body guards grumbled out a "Yes sir" and stomped off somewhere. Good riddance, I had felt that turian staring a hole in the back of my head the whole time.

His office was rather plain, a big contrast to the futuristic extravagance of the club. A single desk was sitting in near the back, topped with a computer and a neat pile of datapads. Shelves lined the walls, filled with colorful electronic devices. A large painting was hung up behind the desk, a swirl of reds and greens and blues. Guess turians had abstract art too. One half of the right wall was made of only glass with a nice view of the club below. Bond villain much.

"Please have a seat," Nehlon said. Two chairs were planted in front of his desk and we took them as he sat behind his desk, talons interlaced on the surface. He examined me. "Quinn, wasn't it? You look rather bruised."

I scratched the back of my head. "Yeah, it's from sparring."

His brow plate shifted up. Not by much but I'd learned to watch for it in turians. "I wasn't aware humans enjoyed sparring."

"It is more of an acquired taste." I had, by the end, grown to like sparring more as I started faring better against Garrus. Getting your ass kicked isn't very fun, but when you can start kicking the other guy's ass at the same time, then it gets enjoyable. Still not a favorite hobby but a bearable one. "It was for my training."

"Ah, that makes sense." He shifted in his seat. "So what it this all about murder?"

Garrus and I exchanged a glance. "Like we said Mr. Tornnus, your head of security is wanted for the death of Jilla T'Onni," I said.

"Please, call me Nehlon, it's much less formal," he said, waving a dismissive hand. He leaned forward at his desk. "Murder is a very serious charge gentlemen, I assume you have proof?"

"DNA testing confirms Amok mated with the victim recently. And an eyewitness claims he was chasing her with a gun around her time of death," said Garrus.

Nehlon nodded, his face unreadable. "I see." He paused, seeming to contemplate his next words. "Can this witness be trusted?"

"Well, I wouldn't trust him," I said. "But he doesn't seem to have a reason to lie."

"Maybe he's trying to lead you both away from him by using my head of security as a scapegoat," Nehlon said.

Garrus shook his head. "The witness didn't mention him by name, only that a batarian was chasing her. The main evidence is his DNA inside of her."

Nehlon hummed. "Amok is known for sleeping around, maybe she was one of his famous one night stands?"

"That might be plausible if Jilla hadn't been missing for six months beforehand," I said. "The DNA is recent too." This guy seemed rather eager to try and poke a hole in our case. Amok was his employee though, he probably just wanted to protect him.

His mandibles twitched in a weird way. I couldn't identify the emotion. "Was she missing? I wasn't aware, my apologies. Are there any other suspects at the moment?"

"None so far," I said. "Just Amok."

He took that information in with a neutral face. "I recently watched Ms. Al-Jilani's news report on this case believe it or not." Nehlon's mandibles spread in a smile. "Not a very apt way to ward off journalists."

"I thought it worked pretty well," Garrus said, voice going a little low. He, like Pallin, sounded like he expected this behavior from Jaran.

Nehlon laughed. "I suppose."

Might as well cut to the chase. "Hey Nehlon, is your head of security here or not? We'd like to get this over with as soon as possible."

He straightened his posture ever so slightly. "I'm afraid Amok is no longer here."

"You fired him?" I asked, incredulous. That'd be just great if Amok didn't work here anymore, he could be anywhere on the Citadel by now. Hell, he could be halfway to Omega on a stolen shuttle, giving a toast to those incompetent C-Sec officers who let him escape.

"Oh no, no, nothing like that," Nehlon said quickly. "He's much too good at his job for that. What I mean to say is he is not working here at the moment."

"Where is he then?" Garrus asked, starting to get impatient. I could understand, this guy could have told us this before inviting us in. "At his home?"

"I imagine he's left the Citadel by now."

I let out an inward groan and Garrus' mandibles fluttered on his face. "He left? When?" If he hadn't already left the Serpent Nebula, we can send out a no-fly for his shuttle and reel him back in. The guys over in Patrol wouldn't be too happy about it but they'd do it.

"This morning. I believe he said he was going back to Khar'shan to visit family. He won't be expected back for a few weeks," Nehlon said neutrally.

Fuck, if he had left this morning, then he was definitely past the relay by now. He could be anywhere in the galaxy. There goes our only suspect down the drain. Terrific.

"Don't you think that's a little odd?" I asked. "The prime suspect leaving the Citadel a couple hours after the murder?"

Nehlon's mandibles twitched in that same annoyed way. "I suppose it would if Amok hadn't planned this journey weeks, if not months ahead of time. This wasn't a spontaneous runaway."

"Premeditated murders can take years to happen," Garrus said. "Talking about the trip months in advance may have been a ploy to convince you of his innocence. It's not that unusual."

Nehlon's mandibles were now tightly pressed against his face. "Gentlemen, I can assure you that Amok is not a murderer. I have worked closely with this man for years and he has never displayed any sociopathic behavior to me or to anyone. He is polite, works very hard, and I can say with certainty that he is my friend."

"Looks can be deceiving," I said.

Nehlon glared at me. "If you two are through insulting my head of security, I must return back to work. I have much to do."

"We would like to ask you some questions about Amok, get an idea of who he is," Garrus told him. I could tell that we were starting to piss off Nehlon with our presence but an interview with Amok's boss would be valuable information on him, even if the man was somewhat biased towards him.

"Like I said, I have much to do but I suppose I could answer a few-" His computer beeped to life with a message and for just a moment his eyes widened in what even I could see was plain fear. Then he controlled himself and gazed over the message, typing out a quick reply before closing the computer. Interesting… "I'm sorry Investigators, but I have just received something that needs my immediate attention. I'm afraid we'll have to continue this later."

"Can we come back in a few hours?" I asked. I don't know what Garrus and I were going to do for that few hours but if we had to wait, I guess we could wait.

"Yes, that sounds fine," he replied, sounding like that was the last thing in the world he wanted. "I'll let my doorman know you'll be returning. Good day gentlemen."

**A/N: Fuck me, this chapter turned out long.**

**Little thing I'm always gonna do. Whenever I quote a song in the actual story, no matter how famous the song, then I'll provide a link for it in an author's note. Just so you know how the song goes.**

** Youtube watch?v=ydrEZSCfBoc. (This site apparently won't let me link the whole thing.) For those who know how the song goes, you should listen to it anyways. 'Cause it's fucking Elvis.**

**See you all next time!**


	9. The Good Doctor

Chapter Nine:

The Good Doctor

"He's the one they call Dr. Feelgood

He's the one that makes you feel alright

He's the one they call Dr. Feelgood

He's gonna be your Frankenstein."

_Dr. Feelgood, Motley Crue_

**12:48, GST**

So, without any other better place to be, Garrus and I decided to stay at Tartarus. There were no real leads to go on and we would just have to come back to this place in a couple of hours anyways. It'd save us a lot of time and I didn't really want to go back to Base and be treated like a weird alien by the turians. Or listen to Pallin talk about what's wrong with humanity. I could get enough of that at any other time.

We were currently at the bar. The booths were far too cramped and would've made Garrus and I almost kiss each other (which I think they were designed on purpose for) and the dance floor was… well, the dance floor. Neither of us wanted to get our feet stepped on and get covered in grime and spilled alcohol. We had just been lucky to steal two seats of our own, the whole bar was filled to the brim with intoxicated aliens.

I'd never actually been in a club before. It definitely was an enlightening experience. The music was loud and repetitive, the air smelled of hot breath and desperation, and I couldn't move a few inches without bumping into someone. Hell, I couldn't stay in one spot without someone bumping into _me_. In all honesty, it was pretty goddamn terrible. Not a very good first experience to night life on the Citadel.

"I think I'm going deaf just sitting here!" I shouted to Garrus. The music sounded like it had amplified itself and was boring a hole into my skull. The song was still the same as when we had gotten here. Or maybe it wasn't, techno all sounded the same to me.

"What?" he shouted back.

"I said I think I'm-" I stopped when I saw Garrus raise his left mandible in a half smirk. "Oh ha ha, very funny Vakarian."

"I thought so!"

"Can I get you two anything?" a batarian bartender asked, cleaning a glass like a classic Western bartender.

"I'll have a soda!" I still didn't know what the drinking age was on the Citadel and didn't really want to risk becoming like Harkin. Plus, I'd have to be interviewing someone in a little while, couldn't really do that drunk off my ass. Well, I could, but, you know, decency.

The bartender nodded. "And you?" he asked, turning to Garrus.

"I'll have some turian ale!"

The bartender nodded again and went off to get our respective drinks, ignoring other patrons' calls for service.

I raised an eyebrow at Garrus. "Drinking on the job?"

"What?" he asked, staring at the long row of booze in front of him. "If we're going to be here for a few hours, I might as well enjoy myself. Do you not drink?"

"It's not that," I replied. "I just don't want to get caught drinking on my first day. Plus, I don't even know the drinking age on the Citadel."

"It's eighteen for humans. If you can be hired by C-Sec, you can buy a drink."

It's eighteen? Well fuck yeah, I'm good then! I'll definitely have to hit a bar with Garrus once we're off duty. And Jaran too, he seems like a great guy to drink with.

"Shouldn't we be doing something, though?" I wondered aloud. We didn't have any leads at the moment but it felt wrong just sitting on our asses doing nothing.

"This job isn't all explosions and violence Quinn." Garrus rolled his punctured shoulder. "Sometimes you have to be patient and wait."

I gave him a knowing grin. "And you might as well have fun while you do it right?"

"That's my philosophy."

"I think I can go along with this."

The bartender returned, giving us our drinks, mine a dark brown and Garrus' a light green. The bartender left as we simultaneously took a drink, Garrus grimacing as much as a turian could grimace.

We sat there quietly, each nursing our drinks, listening to the music and conversations around us. "What do you want to . . . do here exactly?" Garrus asked eventually. "Clubs aren't really my thing and it's not that fun if I'm the only one drinking."

"Well," I started, taking a sip of what I assume was Coke, "I thought maybe we could talk about our feelings, open up a little."

Garrus managed to frown with only his eyes. Turians were really good at getting across emotion with so little facial expression. "Very funny."

"I thought so."

"I'm serious, though," Garrus said, twitching his mandibles. He took another gulp of his ale. "Unless you start drinking too, I vote we go see a vid or something."

"And walk around this neighborhood by ourselves?" I said, thinking back to the mob beating just an hour ago. "Sorry, I don't have a death wish." I tapped my knuckles on the counter, searching around the club. The dance floor loomed in front of me.

"Wanna dance?" I asked, smiling.

His brow plate shifted. "You're not really my type."

I shifted in my stool to get comfortable. "Yeah, you're right; I could do a lot better than you anyway."

He snorted into his drink. "Now I don't know about that."

My roaming eyes fell over the bathroom. "Wanna score some dust in the bathroom?" I asked. "It'll probably be cheap."

"No thanks." He frowned for a moment, probably because he realized there might actually be people selling red sand in there. Wouldn't surprise me too much. "I'll probably end up naked in a keeper vat somewhere."

I snorted. "That sounds like a decent Tuesday night for me."

He chuckled. "If that's decent for you, I'd hate to see a good night."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it usually involves a lot of shame, amnesia and missing furniture. Just to give you a hint."

His teeth showed in his smile. "You'd like Jaran then."

I nodded, returning to looking for an activity. So dancing and drugs are out. What else is there to do in a nightclub then? Wonder why the hell you're in a nightclub? If you aren't drinking, nightclubs are terrible places to be in. Hm . . . what to do, what to do. . . .

The idea struck me like a bulb flickering on. "Let's people watch."

He tilted his head in confusion. "People watch?"

"Yeah, don't tell me you haven't done it before." He shook his head. "Aw, you've been missing out. It was one of my favorite activities back on Earth. I grew up in a coastal city that got a shitload of tourists, especially during the summer. So, a lot of times when I was bored I'd go down to the beach, find a nice comfortable spot with a cold drink and watch the people go by."

"And that's fun to you?" he asked skeptically. "Where did you grow up exactly?"

"Place called California." I took another sip of my drink. "Look, just trust me, it can be really fun. Especially in a crowded place like this. You just have to be patient and know where to look." I swiveled around in my seat to face the perfect location for this. The dance floor.

I scanned the crowd, looking for potential candidates. I found her almost immediately. I tapped Garrus on the shoulder. "Look, asari on the dance floor, near the center." The asari in question was dancing. Although using the word dancing in this situation was a pretty liberal use of the word. If it had been in any other location, I'd say she was having a seizure. Her limbs moved erratically, seemingly trying to escape from her body. Her hips were gyrating only barely to the beat. People were giving her a wide berth and looks of confusion and immense amusement.

"Look at her go!" he said, almost spilling his drink.

I smirked. "Told you it was fun." The asari's wild flailing arm bashed a batarian in the nose. She turned and apologized very briefly before moving down a little and continuing to "dance". The batarian walked away with a bleeding nose and a harsh glare.

Garrus nudged me. "She looks like a nice catch Quinn. You should go for her."

"No thanks," I laughed. "I prefer my women human. And without epilepsy."

His mandibles flared in a shit eating grin. "You've been with a woman before?"

"Of course!" I said, trying to sound as masculine as possible. "I'm offended you'd ask Garrus!"

He held up his hands. "Sorry, I just took you as the . . . brash, awkward type."

"Oh, fuck you forkface."

Garrus grinned and gulped down a quarter of his drink. There was a lull in conversation where a turian sat down next to me and ordered the same drink Garrus had. The music was still raging loudly and the conversations were a constant undertone. The place felt alive most of all, like a giant creature that we were sitting inside. It was a hive.

As much fun as it was chilling with Garrus, we were on duty. We needed to solve this case. But that kind of went out the fucking window when Amok left for Khar'shan. With him gone, we have no other suspects, sans Matt but I doubt we'd find anything that'll stick to him. This case just got pretty unsolvable, at least for a few weeks. Maybe we could give up on talking to Nehlon, at least for now, if Amok wasn't coming back for a while. If he was ever coming back.

"So what was her name?" Garrus asked suddenly.

I froze. "What?"

"Her name. You know, the name of the girl you slept with."

"Pft, like I'm gonna tell you." I sat back straight in my seat to face the raging party in front of me. Mostly to avoid his gaze.

"Come on Quinn," he said, amused. "We're partners. We don't keep secrets from each other."

"Sorry Garrus." I finished my drink and motioned the bartender for another over my shoulder. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Just tell me."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Come on. . . ."

"No."

"Just her first name. . . ."

"Fuck off Garrus!"

"Don't know why you're being so sensitive about it." He polished off his drink and the bartender took it from him without a word. "I'd thought you'd be proud of it."

"You know what, fine! If it'll shut you up." The bartender placed another glass in front of me and I came at it like a dying man, half of it vanishing right away. "Her name was . . . Stacey Everdeen."

He smirked with a single mandible. "You just made that up."

I blushed involuntarily. "Hey, what would you know? You don't know human names!"

"You haven't slept with anyone have you Quinn?" he said, smirking.

"I already told you I-"

"You haven't, have you?" He seemed to enjoy watching me squirm, the bastard.

I felt a bead of sweat drip down my cheek. It was hot as hell in here. "Well, define slept with. . . ."

He shook his head. "Now you're just dodging the question."

"Fine Garrus, fine! You caught me!" I glanced around quickly. "Yeah, I'm still _technically_ a virgin. Doesn't mean I haven't had a girlfriend before. It just never got to that point for me."

"Hey, don't worry about it." He patted me on the shoulder patronizingly. "I don't think any less of you for it."

I batted his hand away angrily. "Okay Mr. Dinosaur Gigolo, have _you _ever fucked a chick?"

"Of course!" he said proudly. "I'm not as pathetic as you are!"

Cocky fucker. "Alright, what was her name, tough guy?"

"Adria Tylinian," he replied immediately. "About six years ago in the military, just before a raid on some batarian pirates." Shit, I forgot about that. Should've kept my mouth shut. "We went a few rounds in the ring, ended up being a tie." He turned away and the most smug smile I'd ever seen on a turian appeared on his face. "Then we held a uh… tiebreaker in our quarters." He took a nice long drink. "I like to think I won that round."

"Couldn't beat a girl Garrus?" I sported my own shit eating grin. "I thought you were better than that."

"Well," he flexed his mandibles out wide, "I had reach, sure . . . but she . . . she had flexibility."

Holy shit, he just said one of his most famous lines. I might've had an embarrassing fanboy moment right there if I hadn't been hanging around him for a month already. I still saw him as Space Batman, but a lot of the initial luster had worn off. Still, it was pretty goddamn awesome to hear him say that.

"I don't know if I really believe you Garrus," I lied. I did believe him but come on, my pride was on the line here. "I don't see how someone could sleep with," I gestured at his face, "that."

He laughed. "You may not see it Quinn, but I'm generally considered good looking. More so than average at least."

"*cough*bullshit*cough*"

I swear he wouldn't stop grinning. "You want me to get an outside opinion?"

I leaned back in my seat. "Go ahead."

He reached over me and tapped the turian next to me on the shoulder. The guy looked up reluctantly. "Would you say I'm handsome?"

The guy's brow plate shifted up. "What?"

"He looks like a pile of shit right?" I asked. "I'm not the only one that sees it?"

His eyes wondered over Garrus' face for a few moments. "I guess he looks alright."

"Hey, hey don't be nice here buddy," I said quickly. "He could crack mirrors couldn't he? Make flowers wilt?"

The guy shook his head. "No, he's definitely good looking. Better than me at least." He returned to his drink, winking us out of existence.

"See?" If smug was a solid matter, Garrus would be oozing it out of every orifice right now.

"That's just one guy Garrus," I said, feeling my defense fall apart. "Why don't we get a female opinion here?"

His mandibles twitched. "Do you see a female turian here Quinn?"

I surveyed the area. I didn't, actually. Just the regular male turians everywhere. That fact was starting to bug the hell out of me, where were all the female aliens? "I think that means I win then."

"Because no else can give an opinion?"

"Exactly!" I nearly fell over in my seat as a salarian bumped into me. I scowled at him before continuing. "You have no supporting evidence, ergo I win. Simple."

"What about him?" Garrus hooked a talon at the turian next to me.

"He doesn't count," I said offhand.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because fuck you, that's why!"

"Excuse me?" Garrus and I both turned to see a nervous looking asari shifting on her feet in front of us, her hands behind her back and a healthy purple blush on her face.

Garrus, who discreetly winked at me, faced her completely. "Yes?" He smoothed his voice, letting the sub harmonics shine and his mandibles flutter. Suave bastard.

The asari tried to meet his eyes, failed and resigned to stare at the floor. "My, uh, my friend over there wants to know if you want to dance."

She pointed to farther down the bar. Garrus and I leaned out of our seats to see another asari, wearing a skin tight dress and trying very poorly to appear oblivious to us. She would take a drink, her eyes would flicker over and then immediately snap back. Any idiot could see she was watching us.

Garrus laughed heartily, releasing a thick cloud of his alcohol filled breath. "I'm busy at the moment, sorry."

Her entire body visibly drooped at this news. "Really?" He nodded and she sighed. "Alright. . . ."

"I-I can dance!" I blurted out. I felt like I needed to overcompensate to Garrus now.

She sized me up like a pair of meat for a few moments. "That's nice," she replied before disappearing back into the shifting crowd.

Right in the self-esteem, man.

"So what was that about me being ugly?" Garrus hummed.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." I washed down the bitter taste of defeat in my mouth. "Let's get back to the game."

He snorted. "Sore loser." He burped into his hand, mandibles jerking. He was going through the booze pretty quick I noted. "So you just watch the crowd right? Find any odd looking people?"

"Pretty much, yeah." The crowd had thickened in front of our view of the asari. I could still faintly see her hands but not enough for any amusement. Time for a new candidate.

"Alright, I'll play your game Quinn." He was now sitting fully facing the crowd, mandibles spread slightly. He nudged my shoulder after a few seconds. "Got one. Human to the right, in the booths."

I started laughing as soon as I saw him. He looked like a stereotypical hair metal rocker. He had long, flowing blonde hair down the side of his head coupled with a goatee. He was wearing a large black jacket that shined in the neon lights and I thought I could make out a little golden cross on his neck. The best part, though, was his pants. He was wearing tight, brown leather pants. Leather fucking pants, even people from my era could agree that those were a horrible mistake in the area of fashion.

"He looks like Vince Neil!" I chuckled, almost choking as I took another drink.

"Who?"

Right, I'm in the future. Even humans from this time won't know who he is. "He was a singer about two hundred years ago. Wore those kinds of clothes too."

"What are they made of?" Garrus wondered curiously. "They're very shiny."

"Animal skin," I said, starting to calm down. The guy wasn't doing anything interesting, just sitting there staring at the wall. Not very fun.

Garrus gave me a startled look. "Humans still wear animal skin?"

I nodded. "We put it in our car seats too." Do turians not do that? "Where did turians get all their clothes on Palaven?"

"We didn't wear any," Garrus said. "We only started wearing them to appease the other species. And even then we only used plant fiber."

So turian society used to be entirely nude? That's interesting. "You're missing out. Nothing like the feel of a freshly slaughtered animal on your skin."

Garrus shook his head. "I'll never understand your kind."

I chuckled into my drink. "Sometimes I don't either." I nudged him on the shoulder. "Let's not forget the bar, there's bound to be interesting people here too."

"Right." Garrus took a big gulp of his drink, emptying it and turned around with me. We both stared past each other, looking for people. After a few seconds, he nodded to me. "Got another, turian and an asari a couple chairs down."

"You're getting good at this game Garrus," I said as I shifted in my seat. A male turian was trying to hit on an asari and was failing miserably. He was leaning in to her heavily, invading her personal bubble. She, in turn, was leaning slightly away from him, not too much to be rude but enough to show disinterest. As if that would work. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I noticed that the turian was flaring his mandibles excessively, much more than needed.

"Hey Garrus, what's with him moving his mandibles like that? Is that normal?"

I could barely hear it, but I heard Garrus let out an amused growl. "It's a trick turians use when picking up other species. All aliens seem to be fascinated with our mandibles so it's a common tactic to move them as much as possible to garner . . . interest."

"That's rather devious of your kind don't you think?"

He shrugged, smiling slightly. "It works surprisingly well."

"What are you implying Garrus? Have you used it before?"

"Shh, look, he's ordering her a drink," he said, ignoring my question.

Sure enough, the turian was asking the bartender to order her a drink, much to the asari's chagrin. The bartender complied, visibly amused, and brought her a golden drink. The turian gestured to it, mouthing something. The asari sighed, picked up the drink, turned to the turian with an insincere smile and threw the drink in his face. He stood there frozen, mouth open as the asari briskly stomped away.

Before I could help myself, I was clapping my hands and whooping sarcastically. A few heads turned my way as I called out "Nice job buddy!" before starting to laugh, my hands at my sides. The turian in question gave me a death stare before skulking off towards the dance floor, on the prowl once again.

This continued on for a good twenty minutes or so. Garrus actually managed to spot more people than me, probably because he was a good seven inches taller than me. Very interesting characters to see in a nightclub, I might have to come back here again just to do this. Though definitely off duty, Garrus and I were getting nasty glares from some people. I also managed to convince him to only have one more ale. I meanwhile was on my third Coke. And I eventually felt nature calling like a bullet to the gut.

"Be back," I spluttered out. I stormed away from the bar and back through the door to the back. I fell into the first room that I remembered was a unisex bathroom and nearly dove to the first urinal. The levee broke just as I prepared myself and I sighed as I dodged that bullet. After the reserves were emptied, I quickly zipped up and made my way to the door.

A giggle echoed out from the stall. I turned to see a pair of blue legs seated in one of the stalls. Why was she giggling? Then I saw a second pair of blue legs descend down from nowhere, facing the first asari. There was another giggle.

Ohhhh. I should . . . uh leave them and, uh . . . yeah. I quietly stepped out into the corridor, feeling my face heat up from embarrassment.

". . . you to do this _Doctor_."

I hesitated. That was Nehlon's voice, coming from down the hall.

"No way man!" an unknown voice answered. "You said C-Sec's been sniffing around here!"

They were on the stairs, out of sight of me. I unconsciously started making my way closer to them, ducking down a little. This sounded suspicious. Lead worthy.

I faintly heard a sigh. "Yes, but I sent them away. And they don't suspect anything. You're perfectly safe."

"Bullshit!" the man said. It sounded like a human voice. "They'll be back, I know they will!" Yep, definitely human. Sounds like a whiner too.

"They are rather relentless," Nehlon said. "Don't worry about them, they're oblivious. Just stick to the route and you'll be fine. I promise."

"Fine. But I get extra for this, got it?"

I reached the corner. I poked my head over just enough to see two figures on the top of the stairs. One was Nehlon and the other, to my surprise, was the Vince Neil looking guy from earlier. Nehlon was holding a brown package in his hands. It looked decently heavy, from the way he was holding it.

Nehlon growled. 'We'll discuss that later. Now," he shoved the box into Vince's hands, "do your rounds." He stomped back into his office. Vince grunted with the weight and started descending the stairs.

Shit, gotta hide! I ran backwards and felt the door control button for the closest room. I opened the door and dived inside the dark room. Once it was closed, the room was pitch black. I heard Vince walk past, grunting again. His footsteps slowly faded away. I sighed and relaxed, still on my hands and knees.

A light flickered on in front of me. I looked up. A turian and asari were lying on a cheap bed, both undressed and staring at me, about a few feet away.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I fell upwards onto my feet and pawed for the door control. "Continue what you're doing!" I called as I bolted out of the room. Thankfully, Vince wasn't in the hallway and I hastily left it, feeling dirty.

Is everyone having sex in this fucking place?

I emerged into the chaotic main room and just barely managed to get a glimpse of a blond haired head before it was out the door. I ran over to Garrus, barreling through people and nearly knocking him over in the process.

"Spirits Quinn, what is it?"

"I got a lead," I whispered in his ear. These other people didn't need to hear this.

"Where?" he asked.

"Follow me," I said, pulling back and jogging for the exit. I heard Garrus stand and follow behind me. We had a courier to catch.

**13:13, GST**

"Wait for it. . . ."

"Right."

"Wait for it. . . ."

"Uh huh."

"Wait for it. . . ."

"Okay, got it."

"Few more seconds. . . ."

"Jesus Christ Garrus, I know how to fucking wait!"

"Now!"

Garrus and I shot forward like machines, maneuvering cleanly out of our corner just as Vince turned his, both of us moving on the balls of our feet (Well, Garrus always did that so he doesn't count). We kept our shoulders near the wall and our heads down, trying to become as unnoticeable as possible. Which is hard to do in an open alley with no cover but we'd been making it work for a while. My aching knees could attest to that.

We'd been tailing this guy Vince for about half an hour now, staying in the shadows as he moved. Thus far, he had gone literally fucking everywhere in this district. Alleys, small businesses, open parks, you name it. Always carrying around that goddamn box too. We hadn't gotten a good glimpse of whatever was inside it, we hadn't gotten the chance. He was sneaky about it, holding it close, always making sure it was tucked into his torso. I was fairly sure it was something illegal at this point, he acted like he was carrying a bomb in his arms.

The people he had visited also had confirmed this. Though we had never gotten a good view of them. They were always in a corner of an alley and or inside a building. It was glaringly obvious that they were doing this on purpose to avoid anyone eavesdropping on their conversations. And so far it'd been doing a damn good job of that. Neither I nor Garrus had had the cajones to get close enough to actually hear any conversations.

There was one thing we could definitely glean from this whole escapade, however. It was that whatever the hell was in that box, he was giving it over to the people he visited. Little by little, the box was becoming visibly lighter and lighter in his hands. We couldn't stop what we were doing to interrogate the other people because this guy never took a goddamn break. Ever. So we had resigned to simply dogging him until he screwed up. Garrus was also tracking the route this guy took on his omnitool so, if need be, we could retrace our steps.

Garrus reached the corner first and held out a hand for me to stop. I laid down on a knee near him as he slowly edged his face out of cover.

"See him?" I asked, trying to push the ache out of my knees.

He nodded and held up a hand, raising a talon. One contact then. "Batarian."

Go figure. "Can you hear them?"

Another nod. "You probably can too."

I willed myself to be silent (which is very hard to do for me) and, barely discernible, I could actually hear their conversation resounding out through the alley. Either they weren't far away or they didn't care about subtlety.

"Took you long enough human." Yep, definitely batarian, really low-ass voice.

"Whatever Four Eyes, I got here didn't I?" That was Vince, sounding impatient.

"Do you have the shit, _Doctor_?" the batarian asked, ignoring the jab.

"No dumbass, I just wanted to say hi. Enjoy your sparkling personality."

A growl. "I swear if you weren't Nehlon's boy, I'd kick your ass right here and leave you for dead. Filthy pyjak."

"You got that?" Garrus turned his head and pressed a talon to his mouth plate, a human gesture he'd picked up from me. Right, eavesdropping. Gotta shut up.

"Yeah? Well tough shit, I'm under his wing. Take me out and he'll be there to fuck you in the ass."

"I'm not stupid human, I know how this works. Just give it to me."

There was a lull in the conversation. I strained to hear anything but couldn't. Garrus, meanwhile, still had his head poked out. "What're they doing?"

"He's handing the batarian something." He paused. "Something white and small."

What? "Can you be more specific?" He shook his head. Damnit, what the hell is white and small?

"That all?" the batarian said after a short period. "This is light."

"There was a hitch in production, something went wrong, I don't know. Deal with it."

"Deal with it? The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look man, I don't have anymore shit for you. I've got dozens of others I need to deliver to so just fucking work with what you have."

"Fine." The batarian spat out. "Now fuck off human, I'm done looking at your face."

"Likewise asshole."

Garrus suddenly straightened and stood up. "He's coming."

"Shit!" I went to start sprinting back but Garrus grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me closer to him. "What the fuck are you-"

"Shut up." He hauled me right into his chest, bent his head down and placed his forehead directly on top of mine. The exact same thing he had done in his romance scene.

He was pretending we were making out.

"Don't move," he hissed, voice laughably icy. This was the closest I'd ever been to him, minus trying to beat his face. His head felt very rough against mine and from so close, I could see the gaps in his plates and smell his metallic alien odor. His blue eyes stood out too, though they were saying the same thing his mouth had. His hot breath shot out and crawled into my nostrils, and I'm sure mine was doing the same to him. Overall, a very, very awkward experience.

Barely two seconds after initiating this… cover, Vince appeared, carrying his box with a tired expression. He flinched widely when he saw us, which I couldn't blame him for. "God you two, get a room…" He threw a disgusted glance at us as he passed, moving at his standard rushed pace. Garrus and I, in a desperate attempt to avoid each other's gazes, watched him progress down the alley.

He, however, decided that now was the time to tie his shoes. He bent down to lace his metal head boots, the box perched on his knee. The whole task took about fifteen seconds, but it might've been an hour for me. I was trying very hard not to notice the contrast between Garrus' cold, hard armor and his rough, surprisingly warm face. His mandibles suddenly fluttered and they tickled my cheeks lightly. I tried to pull away, Vince obviously wasn't looking in our direction, but he held on tight with a death grip. He was determined to sell this whole thing.

Eventually, after an eternally long time, Vince stood up and proceeded out of the alley with his mysterious package in tow, stealing a poorly disguised leer our way as he did so.

Garrus broke off our contact the second he vanished and, without a word, jogged soundlessly in the direction the eighties rocker had went. After a brief second of rubbing my now itchy forehead, I followed like a loyal dog. He kneeled at the corner but this time I stayed standing and leaned over him to look out too.

Vince had stopped about fifteen feet down, the box on the street floor. His back was too us and I think he was typing something on his omnitool. He wasn't moving was the main thing, he was stationary.

And the gentle, constant hum of the station wasn't enough to defuse the thick silence between Garrus and I.

"That was, uh, a good idea there Garrus," I said cautiously. "He completely ignored us." It was actually a very good move on his part. Judging by how fast Vince had emerged, he definitely would've seen us running back down the alley. Now our cover was still intact and the tail wasn't spooked.

"I thought it would work," he replied neutrally.

"Yeah, yeah, good thinking."

Vince didn't move or show any immediate signs of it. Whatever he was doing was taking up all his conscious energy apparently. The street was mostly abandoned, as most were in this neck of the woods, so no one paid him or us much mind. Thank God for that, it'd be really difficult to explain what we were doing right now.

"So," I began, "is this something that we're never gonna mention to anyone?"

"That's what I was thinking."

"Yeah, that might be best." The itchy spot on my head flared and I resisted the urge to scratch. I could feel the remnant of his mandibles near my lips too.

He shifted on his feet. "Good to see you agree."

Vince sneezed suddenly. He hesitated for a moment and I thought he was going to continue on, but he returned to his task. I almost wanted to rush over there and kick him in the ass to get him to move. But, you know, common sense prevented that.

"Just to let you know Garrus," I started, "I'm not a whore. Next time you're gonna have to buy me dinner first."

He snorted, thankfully. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Hey, I'm serious," I continued. "And none of that cheap shit either, I'm talking steak dinner here. With all the trimmings."

"Oh, of course. I'm nothing but a gentleman."

"Maybe some wine too, if I feel like being spoiled. Top shelf, of course."

"Only the best for you Quinn."

"Damn right." Vince rolled his shoulders. "So, how 'bout later tonight? I know a good place with dextro and levo food that you'd just love."

"It's a date." Vince, finally, closed his omnitool and bent over the box. "Now, if we're careful, I can get you a very special present too." Vince commenced his route like a tired soldier.

"I like the way you think Garrus."

**14:20 GST **

About an hour later and Vince Neil finally decided to return to his house, a crappy little apartment in the ass end of the projects district. He was walking down a hallway on the third floor of the complex with Garrus and me peeking out the corner, eyeing him intently.

The asshole had also apparently decided to try and lose any followers he thought he might've had. Which was smart for him, but pissed me off to no end. He had started taking short alleys with multiple turns and had even walked through multiple businesses, forcing us to take blind detours or to stiffly follow him through the building. We had actually lost him at one point, which was only remedied with us backtracking a good five minutes out from where we'd come from and almost running head on into him.

He keyed up his omnitool and opened up the door at the end of the hallway, walking through without hesitation. Garrus and I jumped out of cover and ran for the door, him loading up his omnitool. He fired an Overload at the door control, freezing it in place. We stopped before the door and against the wall, Garrus in the lead, and simultaneously drew our guns. Classic breach and clear position. He looked back at me for confirmation. I nodded. We stormed in.

His apartment was a single medium sized room. An unmade bed with empty beer cans lying on it was at the left, next to an empty nightstand. A small TV was directly in front with a moldy couch facing it. A few bookstands, minus books, were also standing at odd locations around the room. A shiny Les Paul guitar was perched elegantly on a thin stand, almost glowing in the soft light. I did a double take on that, I hadn't seen a physical guitar since before I… well, came here. To the right though was a small kitchen, where Vince currently was with his back to us, resting his box on a small cutting table.

We trained our guns on him. "It's rude to ignore your guests," I said.

He whirled around. "Fuck!"

"Stay right there pal, we've had enough runners today." The guy swallowed dryly.

Garrus flicked his gun. "Over there, on the couch. Now." Vince put his hands up and slowly slid over to the center of the room. "Quinn, search the box."

I holstered my gun and went over to the box. It looked like it was made of cardboard, of all things. I opened it slowly, imagining a forbidden treasure chest. It was full of smaller packages, each wrapped like a white Hershey's Kiss. Exactly how Garrus had described it.

"What's inside it?" Garrus asked behind me.

"Hold on." I picked one up and placed it on the table. I grabbed a nearby steak knife and sliced open the material. A shiny red powder fell out onto the surface, twinkling slightly. "Red sand."

"Th-that isn't mine!" Vince yelled out, like a caged rabbit.

"Oh?" said Garrus, feigning surprise. "Then whose is it?"

"It's . . . I'm holding it for a friend!"

And the award for dumbest answer in history goes to. . . .

"Did you hear that Quinn?" Garrus asked. "He's just holding it for a friend!"

"Well shit!" I said, taking out some of the other bags. "I guess we should go home then! Not much else to do here!"

"Sorry, you're gonna have to come up with a better answer than that." Garrus unhooked a pair of cuffs from his belt and, keeping his gun at Vince's spine, latched them onto his wrists. He pushed him roughly onto his couch, where he twisted into a more comfortable position.

Vince opened his mouth but words seemed to escape him; his eyes darted around the room and a light sweat was breaking out on his forehead. Turns out having two armed men in front of you can kill all your cockiness. Who knew? "I. . . ."

I dipped a finger into the tiny crystals. "Damn."

"What?" Vince and Garrus responded in unison.

"This stuff is live." Red sand, as a result of being produced from element zero, had a slight electrical charge to it. Not much to make you jump but enough to make your hair stand on end when near some. This normally went away after a while but, when it was fresh, the electrical charge was more potent because the eezo was still reacting chemically with the… rest of the product. Or something like that. A chemist would probably be better at explaining it than me, I had glazed over it in Basic, but the basic principle was that you could test the electric feedback to find out when it had been made.

"Test it," Garrus ordered. "I'll watch him."

I keyed up the ol' tool on my arm and scrolled down to the scanner. Much like the crime scene earlier, a thin blue laser shot out and enveloped the small patch of dust in front of me.

_ Identifying substance . . . substance identified as red sand . ._ ._ analyzing electrostatic discharge, please wait._

"So," Vince began, "would it be too much for you two to explain who the fuck you are?!" Apparently he didn't recognize us. That's good, at least no rumors would be started in prison. Or, more importantly, in the office.

_Analysis completion: 4%_

"Investigators Vakarian and Quinn," Garrus said, like he had many times before.

"And who the hell gave you permission to barge into my apartment?" said Vince. I heard movement, which was probably him struggling against the cuffs.

_Analysis completion: 11%_

"The law," I said. I grabbed another bag of sand from the box and started tossing it lightly in my hands. Each little impact sent oddly pleasant vibrations through my hand and down my arm. All in all, there was still a lot of freaking sand in there. The box was almost half full. In street value, it was damn close to almost ten thousand credits, just from a quick glance.

He'll definitely learn not to drop the soap now.

"Bullshit!" There was a creaky spring groaning in protest and then a loud thump behind me. If I had to guess, Vince had tried to stand up and Garrus had pushed him down. "I know you need a just cause for entering someone's home."

"And my partner's looking at it right now," Garrus said, not threatened. He probably had a whole bunch of legal loopholes at the ready for things like this.

"That's just a box. It doesn't look suspicious at all, you made a leap of faith in coming here. Something that's against the law _officer_."

_Analysis completion: 33%_

"Actually, we didn't." I glanced behind me to see Garrus opening the audio files on his omnitool. He played a file.

"_That all?" the batarian from before asked. "This is light."_

_"There was a hitch in production, something happened, I don't know. Deal with it."_

_"Deal with it? The hell is that supposed to mean?"_

_"Look man, I don't have anymore shit for you. I've got dozens of others I need to deliver to so just fucking work with what you have."_

_"Fine. Now fuck off human, I'm done looking at your face."_

_"Likewise asshole."_

Garrus closed his tool and I just had to sneak a peek at Vince. He looked like a man that just swallowed a live porcupine. Red face, wide eyes, twitching arms. Classic. "Ho-how did you get that?"

"Let's just say you need to get better at covering your ass." I placed the red sand back in the box. I hadn't expected Garrus to have recorded the conversation. 'Course he had a hell of a lot more experience than me, he should be the one to think of that.

_Analysis completion: 47%_

"That, that doesn't prove anything!" he said, rather boldly for his situation. "I could've been giving him anything, you can't guess shit from that!"

"So you're telling me you go behind dark alleys to sell cookies?" Garrus said. I could imagine him folding his arms.

"What's it to you if I do asshole?"

I snorted. "Not the greatest answer."

_Analysis completion: 66%_

"Fuck!" Vince said. The gravity of his situation must've just fully hit him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Elegant," Garrus said dryly.

"Fuck you! Just . . . fuck, fuck you!"

"So where does Nehlon get his stuff?" I asked.

_Analysis completion: 79%_

I wasn't watching but I almost felt Vince stiffen in his seat behind me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb," Garrus said. "It won't work out well for you."

"Hey, I'm serious! I don't know anyone named Nehlon! This is my own shit!"

"Oh, so it _is _yours then?"

"What, no! Fuck, no, it's not mine and it's not Nehlon's, whoever the hell that is!"

"You might want to stick with one story," said Garrus. "It tends to help your credibility."

_Analysis completion: 85%_

"Listen, I don't know a Nehlon, okay? What is that anyway, a salarian name?"

I sighed. "Garrus, if you would."

_"No dumbass, I just wanted to say hi. Enjoy your sparkling personality." _

_A low batarian growl. "I swear if you weren't Nehlon's boy, I'd kick your ass right here and leave you for dead. Filthy pyjak."_

"We're waiting," I said, feeling like a cat playing with a mouse.

_Analysis completion: 96%_

"That guy was full of shit, his words don't mean anything," Vince said. Like that was a perfect answer.

"Let me just play the rest."

_"Yeah? Well tough shit buddy, I'm under his wing. Take me out and he'll be there to fuck you in the ass."_

"Really bro, just give it up, you're digging yourself pretty de-" I stopped and glanced down at my tool, which had just pinged.

_Analysis complete._

"What does it say?" Garrus asked.

"That this stuff was made about three hours ago." This was revealing as hell, to put it bluntly. Adding in the hour or so we had followed Vince here, that meant Nehlon had gotten his hands on this stuff somewhere in between the two hours of its creation. And, considering the average amount of time it takes to transport anything by space, this meant only one thing.

Nehlon had a red sand factory here on the Citadel.

I swiveled around. Garrus had his arms folded, gun still in hand and was staring at Vince. Vince, on the other hand, was now covered in a steady drip of sweat and desperation. "Well, looks like your boss has a pretty nice operation going wouldn't you say?"

Vince swallowed something, causing a light click. "I'm not saying anything else," he said calmly, staring through the floor.

I raised an eyebrow. "Right." I turned to my partner. "Garrus, call in a unit to sweep this place. We can take this guy in for a nice talk back at Base."

He nodded and, after a few moments to glare at Vince some more, headed over to the other side of the apartment, talon to his ear. "Base? This is Investigator Vakarian, badge number four-zero- nine…"

So here we stood, me watching nothing but Vince and Vince watching everything but me. The silence between us was awkward and filling, so I decided to break it.

"Nice outfit," I said, looking him up and down. Leather pants, I still couldn't get over that.

He sized me up. "You too."

I glanced down at myself. Light T-shirt, dark blue jeans, sneakers. Sure, I stood out from everyone else but this guy would've stood out even in my own time.

Goddamn leather pants.

"Touché." Another question rose to the surface in my mind. "Back at Tartarus, Nehlon called you Doctor. Is that like a nickname or something?"

"I. . . ." Vince appeared to go for denial again but instead sighed miserably. "Yeah, it's my street name. Dr. Feelgood."

I busted out laughing before I could stop myself. "Holy shit, are you serious?"

He scowled at me. "Do you even know what it's from?"

I collected myself long enough to answer. "Yeah. Motley Crue. A hit album and song." Then the thralls of laughter hit me again and I keeled over, hands on my knees. "Fucking Dr. Feelgood, oh my God. . . ."

Vince leaned back in surprise. "Wow, you're the first person to get that reference. I'm impressed."

"Is that what," I waved my hand at him, "_that _is all about? Trying to look like fucking Vince Neil?"

"You know him too?"

"Obviously." I straightened my back. "God, I haven't laughed like that in a while."

"So, you like the old music then?" Vince asked cautiously, still a little weary. "Rock and all that stuff?"

I shrugged. "It's better than what's played today." I glanced over to the guitar standing by the wall. "You play?"

He shook his head. "Not really man. Shit's hard."

"Pft, no it's not." I reached for the instrument, paused for a moment to ask permission then decided against it. Dude's a drug trafficker, he doesn't deserve the right.

The feel of this beautiful instrument in my hand was almost indescribable. The familiar weight, the smooth body, the slinky strings. Nostalgia overwhelmed me, of hours spent in my room learning old guitar songs. 'Course I'd only had a shitty Fender Strat, not a goddamn Les Paul. To my teenage self, they were an unobtainable dream. And I was now holding one in my hand. I pulled the pick out from between the strings and plucked a note.

Oh my God, that ring. Orgasmic. It was in Drop C tuning too, my preferred pitch.

Garrus pivoted around, halfway in between giving directions. "What're you doing?"

I strummed out a few chords, the position etched into my brain from practice. "Just making sure it's not a bomb or anything."

He stared at me for a little bit, then at Vince for a little longer and finally returned to his task.

I started screwing around with it, doing a few little hammer-ons and pull-offs while keeping Vince directly in my vision. The sound this creature made in my arms could've cured cancer, I swear. The strings were Ernie Ball and extra slinky, my favorite. Pure butter in my hands. The body had a gorgeous sunburst finish, exactly the same tone as Slash's. It was almost glowing in my hands.

I felt like a god.

"You look like a little kid," Vince said, losing some of his fearful edge.

"I feel like one," I agreed, beaming. "Where'd you get this thing man? I'd kill to have it."

His eyes widened marginally. If I hadn't been trained to watch for it in suspects, I'd have missed it. "It was a gift from my dad." He shrugged as much as he could. "Never told me where he got it." His gaze fell away from me with a quick snap.

Dude just lied to me. I looked over to Garrus, who had turned to Vince and seemed to be thinking the same thing. We exchanged a split second glance that confirmed it for me. He probably stole the thing, all things considered. Just another thing to add to the report. I feel bad for whoever he nicked this thing from, it was a beauty.

I wonder if I can still play that one song. . . .

Vince thankfully had put a strap on this thing. I pulled it over my shoulder and felt the familiar tug in my shoulder. God, this takes me back. I prepped my hands.

Let's do this.

And my fingers started dancing across the strings of this instrument as they, almost with a mind of their own, played the solo to Lip Gloss and Black. No notes were static, I had played this too many times for me to screw up anymore. Plus it was easy as hell, just a barely changing pattern for half a minute. I, feeling like a show off, bent the higher notes and really hammered out the lower ones. I could almost hear the actual song play along in my head.

And just as quickly as I started, I ended with a long, glorified slide down the neck and silenced the beast. I grinned like an idiot. I still had it.

Garrus was again staring at me, this time with open surprise. His earpiece buzzed with an indecipherable voice. He placed a hand to his head and pried his eyes off me. "Right, you have to go down the smallest street…"

"Pretty good man," Vince said, with a "not bad" expression. "I would clap but. . . ." He pulled on the cuffs for emphasis.

I frowned. "Yeah, I don't need your approval." Almost forgot I'm supposed to bring this asshole in, I can't get too friendly with him. Not that I'd want to anyway.

"Do you actually know Dr. Feelgood?" he asked.

"Guess I'm taking requests now…" I actually did know the song, namely the famous riff. I reaffirmed my grip on the neck and tried playing it out with terrible results. My strokes were uneven and my fingers couldn't keep up with the tempo. "Fuck!" I tried again, with equally pitiful results. "Goddamnit!"

"You almost had it that time," Vince told me after another failed attempt.

"Yeah thanks buddy, I had no idea until you told me." Damnit, this was an easy song too, I should be able to do this. If Mick Mars can do this high off his ass on heroin then I can do it too.

"I'm pretty sure it's not a bomb Quinn." Garrus folded his arms across his chest. "You can stop checking."

"Eh, you can't be too sure."

This continued on for a good ten minutes. I was playing to my heart's content on Vince's moldy couch and Garrus was keeping a close eye on the man, his gun in easy grabbing distance. We probably should've been creating a crime scene area. We were gonna have to search this guy's apartment now, look for any other drug stashes here, but I figured the other people could do it when they got here.

Eventually, they did arrive, three turians and a small salarian striding business-like into the room. One of the turians vaulted over the couch and pulled Vince to his feet. He jammed a gun in his back and forced him out the door, with Vince yelling verbal abuses all the way down the hallway. The other three started the ridiculously easy process of sealing off the area.

I sighed and, feeling like a part of me was leaving, went to rest the guitar on its stand. Garrus, however, stopped me with his hand. "No, take that with us."

My eyebrow shot up. "Why? This isn't evidence."

A hint of a smile tugged at his mandibles. "You sure? I'd say it looks suspicious."

What? "How?"

"Well," he mused, running a talon along the neck. I almost batted his hand away, I knew from experience how sharp turian talons were. "I think I smell some red sand on the . . . bridge here."

I sniffed the air. "I don't smell anything." I pulled the thing up to my face and tried again. All I could detect was the sharp pang of polish, which smelled amazing.

His grin widened by a fraction. "Try harder."

I did. "Not smelling anything here Garrus."

"Ah, must be your weak, human senses then. Take it, it's contaminated."

"Take it? Shouldn't we leave it for the-"

"Trust me Quinn." He laid a hand on my shoulder. "I've been in this line of work a lot longer than you."

What the hell is he doing? We need to leave this here if it's evidence, taking it without properly sealing it beforehand could contaminate it along the way. He should know that. Not to mention the fact that if there was red sand on this thing, I probably could've felt it. And we'd need more than just "I smelled something" as a reason to bring this in. Like a scan of it, something legitimate. Why does he want me to take this thing so bad…

Oh my God, I'm a fucking idiot.

My lips pulled into an involuntary smile. "Well, if you say so Garrus." I shot a glance at the other three officers in the room. Two of them were taking pictures of the crime scene and the salarian was going through the guy's cabinets and throwing out food. They hadn't noticed.

He patted me on the shoulder. "Good. Now let's go, we have some suspects to interrogate."

We left the apartment with our "evidence" in tow, with me smiling like a kid in a candy store, practically bouncing in the air. And as we calmly made our way back through the hallways we'd traversed before, I couldn't help but think that some clouds did, in fact, have silver linings.

**A/N: Obligatory: Youtube .com watch?v=EIpFiALRND4. The intro in this song is still a bitch to play but the rest isn't too difficult. Probably one of my favorite Atreyu songs too.**

**(So much more. . . .)**

**Anyway, dat's the chapter folks! Hope you enjoyed it!**


	10. Shooting the Messenger

Chapter Ten:

Shooting the Messenger

"'I don't love you anymore' is all I remember you telling me

Never have I felt so cold

But I've no more blood to bleed

'Cause my heart has been draining into the sea."

_Blood to Bleed, Rise Against_

**14:86, GST**

"Remind me why we're here again Garrus," I said for the umpteenth time. We turned the hallway corner smoothly, keeping shoulder to shoulder like it was choreographed. A few of the nearby residents made curious glances at us as we passed, but most either looked away stiffly or did so discreetly. Being a cop meant that people were always watching you with reproach, like you'd arrest them for no reason. I admit, I used to be like that, but now that I was on the other side it just annoyed me.

"Well you see Quinn," he began in a kindergarten schoolteacher tone, "this is what we call a 'lead'. When you have a 'lead', you follow it, talk to the suspects, collect evidence and then you. . . ."

". . . beat your turian partner for being an unfunny asshole?"

He hummed. "I think that's after you get the warrant, though I'm not sure exactly. . . ."

"I'm so glad I got graced with you as my partner Garrus."

We were currently in a more C-Sec friendly part of Bachjret Ward, closer to the Presidium. I cannot describe how glad I am to be out of that god forsaken district. The air in here was cleaner and generally more enjoyable to actually breathe in. And I didn't have to constantly look over my shoulder to see if I had a knife in it, so that was also a plus. All in all, I hope I never have to go back to that hellhole.

But I digress. Garrus and I were currently in a large apartment complex on the thirteenth floor, heading through the barely differing halls. Why were we here might you ask? Well, we were following up on that address Pallin had given us earlier. It felt odd going back to this case after just, you know, discovering that a nightclub owner traffics drugs, but Garrus had told me the evidence would take time to process. A couple of hours at the absolute minimum. So this time we really didn't have anything better to do. And we might as well kill two birds with one stone, Jilla's murder is the reason we had found out about this stuff in the first place.

He snorted. "You know you love me Quinn." I was actually in love with Garrus. In a strictly platonic way. Getting me that guitar, I'd give him my firstborn son if he asked. I had actually offered, but he had politely turned me down. His loss. The axe in question was now safely stashed away in my locker back at Base. Garrus had done some creative "misfiling" of the evidence, so now I had the thing with no strings attached, pun not intended. It was a dream come true. After asking why he had done that for me, he had replied with "He didn't deserve it anyway". Well fuck yeah, I agree Garrus, I deserve it much more than Vince does. I was just happy enough to get it that I could ignore that particular blatant disregard for code and law in general. Bribery is indeed a powerful motivator.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." I scooted out of the way of a passing human. "But again, why are we here? I don't think we're gonna get much out of these people."

"You'd be surprised," he replied. "Sometimes even the most miniscule leads can turn up evidence."

"But this is her parents! Unless they kidnapped her too, I doubt they'd know anything useful."

"That still remains a possibility actually," he said, narrowly squeezing between a passing asari couple. "We can't rule it out yet."

"But…" No good points appeared in my mind. "God, that's . . . fuck."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

He was right, after all. We couldn't rule it out, though that didn't mean it was likely. But still… it was possible. Working here was making it hard for me to keep my idealistic view of people in general, even if it wasn't that high to begin with.

There was something else that was nagging at me though. "But how are we gonna… you know, break it to these people that their daughter bit the dust?"

He rubbed the back of his fringe. "Well I was, uh, hoping that you would do that for me."

"Oh! The great Garrus Vakarian can't give bad news?"

He frowned at me. "It's not that. I can _say_ it just fine; it's the aftermath I can't handle."

"What like the tears? You can't deal with someone crying?"

His mandibles twitched and he avoided my eyes. "It's just so awkward. I never know what to do." Yeah, that sounds like you Garrus. "Especially humans, I hate it when your kind cries Quinn. All the sniffling, the moaning, it's awful."

"Can't really blame you," I laughed. "You just gotta be there though, you know? Give 'em a good shoulder to cry on. It's not hard really."

"Well, since you seem so confident about it," Garrus said, "why don't you break the news to them?"

"Hey, you're the more experienced one here! You should know how to do this!"

"Come on, do it for me." We reached our destination, a barely distinguishable door in the hallway. Garrus racked his knuckles sharply on the door. "I did get you that . . . what was it called again, quitor?"

"Guitar. And blackmail Garrus? I thought you were above that."

"Blackmail is such a strong word," he said, enjoying the sound of his voice. "I prefer extortion, sounds much more sophisticated."

"Uh huh. You also broke the law Investigator. Stealing potential evidence is a big no-no."

"Maybe," he said casually. He didn't seem too phased by that accusation. He had always been a diamond in the rough anyway. "But I did stop Matt from shooting you too."

"Alright, fine Garrus, I'll do it. I'll do most of the talking and you can stand off in the corner and be useless like you usually do."

"I knew I could count on you Quinn," he chuckled.

The door opened and a rather large male turian appeared in the doorway, wearing civilian clothes. He was old, if I was correct. His plates were worn on his face and his white colony marking had faded pretty significantly on his face. But that wasn't what caught my attention about him.

His right mandible was gone.

That wasn't entirely accurate but it was mostly true. There was just a short stub where it should've been, leaving part of his mouth permanently exposed. I could see the point where his colony markings should have gone along his face. I had to force myself not to stare. "Can I help you. . . ." He paused and narrowed his eyes harshly when he noticed me. Shit. ". . . officers."

I, despite myself, was too fascinated with his missing mandible to respond. Thankfully, Garrus did it for me. "Good afternoon sir, can we come in?"

He hadn't taken his eyes off me. If the phrase "staring daggers" was true, I'd be full of bloody holes. "What for? I haven't done anything wrong."

I forced myself to blink and look into his eyes. "We can, uh, explain inside sir. May we?"

Something low rumbled in his throat. "Fine," he said, sounding like he was chewing something tough. "Come in." He disappeared back in the doorway and Garrus and I followed behind with just a moment's hesitation.

The apartment was rather spacious, by Citadel standards. It was about sixty feet down and across, with a huge living room and two little alcoves on the sides for the kitchen and a reading area respectively. Two couches facing each other in the living room along with a rather large TV attached to the wall. But the wall was the most amazing part. It was one giant window that offered a magnificent view of Bachjret Ward and the Serpent Nebula, illuminating the room in a tranquil purple light. A very nice apartment, one that must've cost quite a good sum of credits.

"Who was it, dear?" A voice called from behind a red locked door to the left. It sounded feminine.

"Investigators," he said, leading us into the apartment. "They want to talk to us about something."

There was a loud crash as something fell to the floor behind the door and a poorly silenced voice whispering "Investigators?" before more fumbling resounded out.

The turian flicked his head over to the couches. "Have a seat."

Garrus and I obliged, heading over and plopping down the couch facing the window wall. However, my ass, expecting to meet soft cushion, found itself slamming into a rock hard wall. All the breath whooshed out of me in a painful burst. "Fuck!" I swore with what little air I had, making sure to keep it quiet.

"Something wrong?" Garrus asked, having not been fazed by the harsh furniture.

"Fine," I said, straightening myself. "This couch . . . made of concrete. . . ."

"It is designed for turians," he said, amused at my suffering.

"Fucking turians. . . ."

The locked door opened to reveal a hasty asari with intricate, pearl white facial tattoos barreling through, straightening her clothes to perfection along the way. "Investigators!" she replied with friendliness I couldn't place as genuine or fake. "To what do we owe the pleasure?!"

The turian, who had moved over to the kitchen, snorted at the word pleasure. I get the feeling he doesn't like me too much. Call it intuition.

I glanced over to Garrus, who was giving me a look of "go ahead". "Um, please have a seat Ms. . .?" I realized at that moment I hadn't actually checked the info Pallin had sent us for their names. I'd only scanned for the address. A rookie mistake.

She didn't seem to take offense to my ignorance. "Leia T'Onni." She placed a hand on her chest. "And that's my mate Anturo Soviria." Anturo was now putting away some odd food items in the cupboard and paid us no mind. The disfigured part of his face was facing me however and I had a hard time making eye contact with Leia. From a casual glance, it looked like he was baring his teeth at me.

"Uh, Michael Quinn and that's my partner Garrus Vakarian." Garrus nodded and returned to staring at the wall like the helpful partner he was.

This caught Anturo's attention. "Quinn, you say?" He set down a box of food he'd been holding and went for a nearby door. "Let me get something."

"Honey. . . ." Leia facepalmed, her voice part annoyance and part weary.

"No, no, I want to show him." He disappeared through the door into what looked like a bedroom. I managed to glimpse a rather impressive stack of bottles on a nightstand before the door closed behind him.

My eyebrow shot up. "What is he. . . ?"

"I'm sorry," she said, almost pleading. "He does this to every human that comes by."

"Does what, exactly?"

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "You see, he's a war veteran and-"

Anturo reappeared through the door, this time carrying, of all things, an old human helmet in his hands. Leia sighed. "Honey please, we never get guests anymore…"

He ignored her and practically shoved the helmet in my face. "Do you know what this is?" His voice had a very edgy undertone to it.

For a moment, I didn't know what to say and simply stared at the headgear in front of me. The thing was covered in little scratches and dents with most of the paint faded away. It had obviously seen some serious combat. ". . . a helmet?"

His mandible flared for a moment. The other one made a healthy effort to also. "Yes. A human helmet. Do you know where I got this?"

"And why do you think he should know?" Leia asked angrily.

"Stay out of this," he said back, eyes rapt on me.

"Not all humans know each other Anturo!" Leia seemed close to yelling now.

Anturo glared back at her without moving. I could barely sense a wordless conversation travelling between the two, though I couldn't understand what the hell they were saying. It seemed Leia lost this battle of wills because she scowled and crossed her arms, turning her head away in anger. Silence filled the room like an awkward liquid. I almost choked.

"Uh, we can do this another time," Garrus said, starting to rise off the couch.

"No." Garrus sat back down slowly, mandibles twitching uncomfortably. "Do you?" Anturo said, staring into my soul.

My mouth opened but words wouldn't come out for a few horrible seconds. "I . . . an antique store?"

He leaned into me and it was only when his face was close to mine did I smell the alcohol in his breath. A fair amount of it too. "Shanxi, human. I got this at Shanxi. Tore it off the pyjak that did this," he jabbed a talon at his stubbed mandible, "to me."

Oh fuck, a racist veteran. A racist, malformed veteran. A very, very bad combination. "I'm sorry?" Please don't hit me, please don't hit me, please don't hit me. . . .

He grunted, like I had just insulted him. "Are you?"

"Anturo. . . ." Leia now just sounded disappointed.

"Well yeah. I mean, I don't want you to be. . . ." The word disfigured threatened to escape from my mouth. ". . . hurt or anything."

He watched me for what felt like a long time, scanning for any telltale expressions. I had to force myself not to cough and I noted out of the corner of my eye Garrus shifting in his seat. "Read the name on the helmet." He dumped the heavy thing in my lap, right on my more sensitive region and sauntered over to the couch his wife was sitting on. He tried to sit next to her but she scooted away just enough to leave a gap.

I turned the helmet over in my hands and finally I found a name scrawled with a knife just under the left ear. "Brendan Quinn," I read aloud. I kept my face neutral and tossed the helmet over to Anturo. "Sorry, don't know 'em."

If he was disappointed that he hadn't killed one of my relatives, he didn't show it. Or I couldn't tell. "You're sure?"

"Yup." I wasn't actually. What if I did have some long lost relative that had fought in the First Contact War and had been slaughtered by this guy? I may have crossed dimensions, but didn't Mass Effect have the same twenty first century timeline as my reality? Ergo, it was just in the future? If so, I absolutely could have a lot of surviving family members at the moment, a whole plethora of them in fact. I might've already passed one in the streets and not recognized them.

And, if I follow this thought, wouldn't that mean that I had in fact existed in this universe, a hundred and eighty years ago? Lived my whole tragically short life on that existence? So I, right now, could be a skeleton in the ground or a pile of ashes in a vase as I sit here perfectly alive, my name written down on falsely positive eulogies and my face etched on dusty photos crammed and forgotten in an attic somewhere. I had died a long time ago and had been reborn through death. Does that mean I'm simultaneously alive and dead, at the same time? Like a human Schrodinger's cat?

Jesus, this is a mind fuck. I might just slip into solipsism if I think about it too much.

He hummed for a moment, an unreadable tone. Then he turned to his mate. "Sorry, I had to be sure."

"No you didn't," she said bitterly, not making eye contact.

The stub twitched. "Yes I di-"

"No." She finally met his face, a pissed aura in her eyes. "You didn't."

Anturo looked down to the floor and I was reminded of a dog that had just gotten caught shitting on the floor. He picked up the helmet without a word and stalked back into the bedroom, metaphorical tail between his legs. Leia watched him go but didn't say anything.

I ran a hand along my face stubble absently, an uncomfortable knot in my throat. And Garrus seemed to be sitting on the business end of a rather sharp stick.

"Should we come back another time?" I asked.

"It's fine," she muttered, revealing the opposite. "Are you okay, Michael? You have quite a good collection of bruises."

My tongue licked my cheek where I knew a nasty bruise was. "I'm alright. And please, call me Quinn." I stole a glance over to the bedroom. "Is he gonna be a problem?"

"He won't attack you, if that's what you're implying. He's a good turian after all." Garrus snorted at that remark. "He's still a little sore over what happened on Shanxi."

I didn't like the sound of that. "What, uh, what happened?"

"He never went into detail about it," she admitted, with a tone of both understanding and annoyance. "But his unit got captured early on in the siege. They didn't treat him too kindly."

"Jesus, I'm sorry." War crime is terrible no matter how you look at it. Though I definitely didn't think it justified racism, I could at least be sympathetic towards him.

Anturo reappeared without the helmet and plopped down on the couch, not bothering to get close to Leia this time. He avoided making eye contact with anyone. Leia's eyes flickered to him for just a moment before returning to us. "So why are you here Investigators? Is it something to do with Jilla?"

My throat clicked and Garrus still had the same look of "I'm not doing this". "Yeah, it does."

"That's not a very happy tone you have," Anturo said.

Leia's face changed without moving. It turned into the face of someone bracing for bad news. "You… found her didn't you?"

Oh God. . . .

I took a deep breath. Time to rip the Band-Aid off. "Your daughter was found dead this morning, killed by a gunshot to the head in a back alley."

"Goddess, Jilla. . . ." Leia's face twisted into something awful and Anturo ran a hand along his fringe, face unreadable. I saw the beginning of tears before Leia buried her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry," I said lamely, "but we'd like to ask you a few questions about Jilla. If that's alright."

Anturo shot me a look that made me feel guilty for asking and wrapped an arm around Leia, who leaned into him and kept her face hidden. They stayed like that for a good while, Anturo whispering something indecipherable to a now crying Leia who became gradually more and more distraught.

I hadn't expected this big of a reaction. I had figured (hoped is a better word actually) that, since she'd been missing for so long, that the wound would've scabbed over for them by now. And that they'd take the news of her death better than, well, this. They were taking it pretty hard.

_Of course they are you fucking idiot, they just lost their daughter._

I wanted to go over there and say… fuck, something! Maybe give her a hug along with Anturo, who didn't appear much better off. But it would be awkward, especially coming from the guy who just told her this awful information. So I resigned to simply staying on the couch and trying rather pathetically to not be aware of what was happening in front of me.

"Ask your questions Investigators," Anturo said after a minute or so, in a strict, unwilling tone.

Garrus, once again, didn't seem willing to help so I started with the first question that came to mind. Even though it felt like pulling teeth. "Do you know anything about Jilla's disappearance? Anything that could help us get a suspect?"

They both shook their heads. "No, nothing," Leia said, unburying her head. "She just . . . vanished one day. We. . . ." She paused to sniff something back. "We asked C-Sec to help but they couldn't turn up anything. Nothing useful, anyway."

"Was there anything Jilla did that might've gotten her in bad situations?" I said. I didn't want to continue but knew I had to.

"Jilla liked the nightlife. She'd always stay out late at clubs, meeting the shadiest people I'd ever seen. I was always so worried for her."

"Did she go out often?"

Leia nodded. "All the time. We'd get into the worst arguments over it. She'd always yell at us for not respecting her independence."

"Even though she was living with us at the time," Anturo muttered, almost to himself.

"I wouldn't have had such a problem with it if it wasn't for the people she'd always meet…"

"People like who?" Garrus finally asked.

"All kinds," Anturo replied. "Turians, other asari, humans. . . ." I noted he said that last one with particular disdain. "But batarians mostly. I'm fairly sure most weren't even legal."

Oh, what's this now? "Batarians?" I said. "What kind exactly?"

"Too many to remember." Leia wiped her eyes and finally sat up all the way straight, though she was still within easy grabbing distance. "We usually didn't get a name."

"No, I remember one," Anturo said. "Amuk or something. Worked at some club in the projects. Jilla would never stop talking about him."

"I think I remember meeting him actually." Leia straightened her back. "Had a nasty scar across one of his eyes. I hated when he looked at me."

"Do you know what club he worked for?" I asked.

"Tartarus," said Leia. "At least I think so. There's so many clubs on this Ward, it's hard to remember the names."

I did my best to keep my face neutral. "I see." A miniscule glance at Garrus told me he was thinking the same thing I was.

Amok is a guilty fucker.

"Is there anything you can tell us about this Amuk? What he looked like, something?"

Leia shook her head, causing a fresh tear to cascade down her face. "Nothing. Even Jilla barely knew anything about him. I think that's what she liked most, his mysteriousness. She was always curious about everything, always searching for answers. One time she. . . ." She paused and her eyes glazed over ever so slightly for a moment. "Sorry, I'm getting off track. We knew nothing about him."

"Nothing at all?"

"She said no," Anturo said, mandible pressed hard on his face.

I held up my hands for placation. "Okay, sorry." I glanced over to Garrus. He appeared to be avoiding gazing at the now softly crying Leia at all costs. God, I wanted to leave just as badly as he probably did but I needed to ask more questions. It was vital. "Could you tell us anything about the night that Jilla disappeared? Anything unusual?"

Anturo started to talk, probably to tell me to fuck off but Leia interrupted him. "It's okay." Anturo hesitated for a moment and, thankfully, resigned to glaring at me. "It was a normal night by all means. Jilla had just gotten home and had immediately made to leave, saying she wanted to see Amuk again. We tried to get her to stay but she insisted. Things got heated and. . . ." She stopped again and this time the hurt in her face was almost unbearable to see. "She ran out the door, screaming that she hated us."

"I tried to run after her," Anturo said suddenly, "but she hailed a cab before I could reach her. That was the last time I saw her, refusing to look at me in the back seat of the car."

"And she," I paused to clear my throat, "she never came home after that?"

"Obviously," Anturo said, fixing me with a hard stare. "Or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Honey. . . ." Leia tried to squeeze his shoulder but he didn't budge.

"Do you have any suspects at the moment?" Leia tried to put a hand on Anturo, but he shrugged it off.

I resisted the urge to scratch at my face. "Yes actually, the batarian you mentioned, Amok'Tesh, is currently the prime suspect."

"And I'm assuming he's sitting in a cell right now?"

My hand won the conscious battle and I scratched my itchy face. "Uh, no, he's, uh, on Khar'shan at the moment."

Anturo's face hardened. "You let him get away." It wasn't a question; it was an accusation.

"He left before we had sufficient evidence to convict, actually," I said.

"Aren't you going to bring him in?" Leia asked. "He's a wanted criminal, you can't just let him leave."

"It's outside of our jurisdiction. We aren't allowed to pursue any suspects past the relay. C-Sec policy."

"So you're just going to let the man who murdered my daughter run free?" Anturo said, his mandible hard pressed to his plates.

Goddamnit, this is getting volatile. "Sir, we haven't confirmed that he-"

"That doesn't matter," he said, his gaze boring a hole in my head. "You're letting the prime suspect get away because you're too lazy to pursue him."

"Look buddy," I said, starting to get angry, "it's not that we don't care, it's that we physically _can't_-"

"Don't lie to me," he shot back, no less appeased. "You both don't really care about my daughter. You're just looking to finish the 'case' however you can, so you can sit on your asses and not care about the people you're not helping."

"Anturo please. . . ."

"Why couldn't you find her human?" he shouted, starting to lose control. "Why couldn't you bring her home? If you had just found her, she'd still be alive!"

My hand instinctively crept closer to the gun at my hip. It was a part of training and it almost made me ashamed. Almost. "I'm sorry, sir, but I-"

"Don't give me that shit!" He jumped up, flinging Leia off him and holding out an accusatory talon. "You're not sorry! You only care about your own kind, you filthy fucking prima-"

"_Anturo_!" Leia grabbed his arm from the couch. He didn't move from his spot and my hand didn't move from its spot near my holster. I didn't register Garrus nor anything else at the moment, just the furious turian in front of me who seemed to want to rip my throat out. My entire being was concentrated on his next action.

No one moved. A car raced by next to the window and a rapid shadow coursed through the apartment like an unwelcome specter. I could almost feel Anturo hitting me in his mind.

After an eternity of tension, Anturo broke eye contact, jerked out of Leia's grasp extremely easily and stomped off into the bedroom with his hands balled into fists. A heavy silence filled the room which was broken only twice. The first by the sound of something heavy falling on a bed where Anturo had went and the familiar crack and hiss of a bottle being opened. Garrus, in true form, eventually shattered the noiselessness.

"Well . . . that was sudden."

Leia kept her gaze firmly on the bedroom door. "I'm sorry Quinn, he likes to blame humans for everything. I'm just glad you weren't around when Jilla first vanished, Goddess, he wouldn't stop yelling."

"It's alright." My hand settled back down in my lap. Shit, I'd been mad enough to yell at a powerful deity when I had lost my family, I could definitely relate with the guy. To a certain extent.

"I'm sorry Investigators, but we really don't know anything," she said, rubbing at her eyes. "C-Sec never turned up anything on Amok, other than some past drug dealing crimes. They couldn't stick anything on him."

"Yeah, well, I think that's gonna change." I stood up and Garrus, noticing this, did the same. "I know this is hard Leia but we're gonna have to ask you to come to Base later. Any information you can give us about your daughter will help us find her killer."

"Of course, I understand." A bottle suddenly shattered in the bedroom, making all three of us jump. Leia swore under her breath. "I need to talk to him. Can you two show yourselves out?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for the cooperation."

"Wait!" she called suddenly. "There's something we didn't mention!"

Garrus and I exchanged a glance. "What?" I asked.

"Jilla. . . ." She stopped to consider her words. "I think I know why Jilla liked Amok so much. He'd . . . well, sometimes I'd see him carrying these odd boxes. He'd never say what was in them and I never figured it out either. But one day, when he was leaving, he dropped the box, spilling these little white bags. He scooped them up like his life depended on it and left without a word."

"White bags?" I said, feeling like I was completing a circle. "You mean like the kind red sand's usually in?"

She nodded. "Yes, I think so." She leaned into me. "I think Jilla was using it too. Sometimes she'd come home with the reddest eyes I'd ever seen. One time she just collapsed in the middle of the room, barely able to talk."

"Doesn't it seem a little odd that Amok would bring drug filled boxes to your home?" Garrus said.

Leia, surprisingly, blushed. "Well, like I said, I didn't like Amok. So sometimes I'd follow them, to make sure she was safe. I didn't like my little baby going out to the streets by herself with that man."

"We understand," I said. I'd probably do the same thing. "Have a good day Leia, we'll see you later."

Leia showed a painful smile for a brief moment and, with great courage, walked into the bedroom where the angry turian had retired himself. Seeing that as our cue to leave, Garrus and I obliged. However, during the extremely short trip to the door, my hand had the fortune to hit my pocket, revealing a noticeable absence in that area. My credit chit, with all my current wares (the grand sum of one hundred and three credits) currently on it.

"Shit. . . ." I glanced back hopefully and, sure enough, it was back on the couch I'd been sitting on. Must've fallen out of my pocket. "Hold up, dropped my chit."

"Of course you did," he said with a sly undertone.

"Garrus?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you."

I strolled over to the couch, making sure to stay as quiet as possible. And I just had the little device in my hands when I heard Leia's stern voice echo out from the closed bedroom door.

"Why do you have to berate every human that comes by?"

"Because they did this to me!" came Anturo's answer, much louder.

"One did that to you!" she said. "One! You can't blame them all for it! And put that down!" There was a loud clatter as what sounded like glass bounced off the metallic floor. "You're killing yourself!"

A flanged growl was just barely discernible. Silence reigned for a few seconds.

"Let's go Quinn," Garrus called. I put a finger to my lips for him to shut up.

"Are they gone?" Anturo asked, calmer and seemingly more connected.

"Yes, after your little outburst."

A humorless laugh. "Guess that's the last we'll see of them then. They won't care enough to come back again."

"Honey," Leia's voice softened, "you have to trust them. They'll find the killer, you need to believe that."

"Why?" His voice returned to the usual volume of loud as hell. "What have they ever done for us? They let Jilla's kidnappers get away! It's their fault she stayed missing and their fault she's dead!"

"I said put that down!" Another clatter, followed this time by the distinct sound of shattering glass. "And it's not their fault, your fault or anyone else's! Nothing could've stopped this Anturo!"

"Not my fault? If I had been just a little faster, I could've stopped her! She'd still be here if I had only run faster!"

"It's not your fault Anturo," she insisted, firmly.

"Yes it is! It's my fault and I have to live with that for the rest of my-"

His voice cut off suddenly and I had to strain to hear the next part.

"It's not your fault."

Nothing. Nothing else for the longest time preceded that. Time passed. Just enough passed, in fact, for me to realize what I was doing and become rather disgusted with myself. I shouldn't be listening to this. But right as I took the first step towards the front door, I just managed to catch this little snippet.

"I'm sorry. . . ."

The tenderness, the absolute broken quality to those words sent a shiver through my body. My face lit up with embarrassment despite the fact I hadn't been caught. I netted my chit and proceeded out of the apartment without a word or glance backwards. Garrus, probably registering the solemn expression on my face, followed in silence as well.

You know, I couldn't promise these people much. Their daughter was dead and nothing other than some freaky reanimation shit would bring her back. It sucked and, judging by the sound of things, how they left their relationship with her will haunt them for a good long while. Jilla screaming at them, Anturo failing to stop her from leaving. It was terrible.

Seeing the fallout of murder is a very humbling experience. Growing up, you always see those war movies with the grunts mowing each other down with brutal weapons, men charging towards a hill like sheep to the fucking slaughter. People killing each other with desensitized ease, the bodies clustered on the ground as blackened blood soaked the dirt. Yet no one in the theater bats an eyelash. Many died but almost no one showed the consequences of this, the soul shattering pain it brought on families, the loved ones, the friends of those reduced to worm food. The anguish, the blind hatred, the crushing guilt, the fingers raised to the sky, nothing. They make them all faceless. You know why?

Because no one but the people who deal with this issue daily realize that, when a murder is committed, you're killing two people. The victim and a part of everyone else's soul who holds them dear, every fragment of them embedded in their close ones. Murder isn't isolated, it's a stone thrown into a calm pond. It ripples and disturbs everything in its path, an unwelcome force.

I don't make promises I can't keep. If I can't do something for someone, I will tell them plain. I'd much rather be known as an honest asshole than a lying friend. Mincing words and diplomatic answers are for those without the balls to tell the truth. Whatever I say I will do, I will do.

And I can say one thing, one thing in this whole fucked up situation. One thing that I will try as hard as I can to accomplish, one thing that is in my grasp to achieve. Just one simple task.

I can make Amok fucking pay.


	11. Unconventional Means

Chapter Eleven:

Unconventional Means

"Lock eyes from across the room

Down my drink while the rhythms boom

Take your hand and skip the names

No need here for the silly games

Make our way through the smoke and crowd

The club is the sky and I'm on your cloud

Move in close as the lasers fly

Our bodies touch and the angels cry."

_Jizz In My Pants, The Lonely Island_

**15:23, GST**

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I angrily slashed downwards, propelling the little extranet page on my omnitool down as it scrolled. "This guy has nothing interesting on him! Growing grass is more goddamn fun than he is!"

Garrus glanced over to me from the driver's seat. "You realize most people don't live vid-style lives right? You're not going to find triple homicides and faked deaths on most profiles."

I returned to the top of the page and began scanning it for the seventh time in the past few minutes. "I wish they fucking did; it'd make this shit easier to read."

"Are you saying you want criminals to do more crimes?" he asked. "This station already has enough crime; I don't think I could handle more."

"Don't fucking overanalyze things Garrus," I said, not taking my eyes off the list. The incredibly boring list.

A low hum emanated from him. "Are you alright? You're swearing a lot. More than usual, anyway."

We were heading back to Tartarus in our patrol car. It had been a couple of hours since Nehlon had told us to leave and, even though he hadn't messaged us to return, we figured that satisfied his condition of our return. I wasn't too excited about heading back to this district (which I was considering naming "Chromium Shithole") but, duty calls after all. And my trigger finger might be a little faster this time around.

"Yeah, fine, fine." I was pumped, man. I felt like I'd swallowed a goddamn medicine cabinet of adrenaline pills. It was a feeling I was fairly familiar with. It was the type of quickening in the gut I always got when I was at the beach watching a beautiful set roll in. Or I when I was staring down my gorilla opponent on the wrestling mat, facing the giant kid who looked like he rode the short bus to school every day. Or whenever I knew a particularly badass solo was coming up in a concert. Basically, it was the feeling you get when you know you're about to do some awesome shit and you can't help but feel the blood coursing through your veins.

It was time for a change. After being about as useful as Anne Frank's drum kit for so long, I was now determined to fix that. Right wrongs, put assholes behind bars. Make myself actually live up to Gatsby's words. Absolve my sins in the fires of conquest, all that poetic crap. And, above all, try to give Anturo and Leia some closure. That was my mission. It was my light.

"I doubt you're going to turn anything up looking at his early life Quinn," he said, swerving around a car and making me lose my place on the page. "Unless he made bombs for the Hegemony in diapers, I'm pretty sure he didn't do anything as a child."

"Are you implying I'm a bad Investigator Garrus?" I flicked the page up with a rough finger.

He snorted. "In the interest of keeping our partnership civil, I don't think I should answer that question."

"Garrus, we made out about an hour ago and can still make eye contact with each other; I think we're beyond the point of caring about insults."

I noted, with satisfaction, a faint blue hue spreading along his fringe. "That was to protect our cover."

I skipped down into Amok's recent activities. "Yeah and you came up with the idea pretty fast didn't you? A little Freudian slip maybe?"

He considered that with a mandible twitch. "I don't see you arguing about the results."

Let's see; recently bought some pistol mod at a store, some old batarian literature, and a whole list of food items I couldn't pronounce for the life of me. "True, it's just your methods I have issues with."

"I'll be sure to ask your opinion next time."

I cracked my fingers. "Please do. I don't want to get scale itch."

"Only vorcha carry that disease," he replied somewhat evenly. "And it's sexually transmitted."

So vorcha have apparently been discovered a few years early? Guess that's just another canon change I'm gonna have to deal with. I hope to God there aren't any on the Citadel, they freak me the fuck out. "Hey, I don't know what you do in your spare time Garrus."

"I think we're getting off topic here. . . ."

I smirked. "Funny, that sounds like something that someone who's been cock-deep in vorcha would say. . . ."

"_Anyway_," he swerved around a slow driver in front of us, "you're probably not going to find anything that the techs couldn't find on him. They know how to use the extranet after all."

"So what, I shouldn't try?" He was pretty much right. See, the batarian Hegemony was basically this universe's version of The Party. Total totalitarianism. So they tried their hardest to isolate themselves, which lead them to keeping close guarded secrets on everything they could. Like citizens who emigrated (escaped is a better word) from the planet. Meaning good ol' Amok here. The best I could find on him was that he won a spelling bee when he was eight, the sick bastard.

"Go ahead. Just don't be too disappointed when you fail."

"Yeah, thanks for the confidence." I closed out my tool. "And thanks for helping me out back there, really appreciate it."

"You seemed like you were doing fine," he said with a coy smile. "Until he started yelling at you of course, but hey, no one gets it right the first time."

"Remind me to never rely on you for anything." I rested my head on the window, watching the shifting expanse of dust in the skyline. Complete postcard material.

"Will do."

It wasn't long before I spotted the familiar grandeur of Tartarus. The ever-changing lights, the cliché Hollywood lettering of the title, the crappy destitution of the adjacent buildings. Exactly the type of place a father wouldn't want their daughter going to. Or any parent to offspring relationship for that matter. It had the right aura of guilty pleasure around it, which perfectly described what I had seen inside.

"Remember to be civil around Nehlon," Garrus said as he descended the car down into the parking lot. "The evidence hasn't cleared yet and we don't have a warrant."

"Shouldn't I be telling you that?" I said, almost absently.

For a moment, I thought he'd taken offense to that. Then his mandibles flared in a wry smile. "Who's the one that has more experience here?"

"Who's the one that can't deal with crying witnesses?"

"Funny," he said as we touched down and exited the vehicle, "that sounds like something an inexperienced officer would say. . . ."

"HA!" I laughed, mustering up all the sarcasm from my blackened heart. "Ha ha ha! You're so fucking funny Vakarian!"

He grinned. "I do try."

The krogan bodyguard from earlier was still at his post and still had the, what I call, asshole essence radiating off of him as we approached the door. Something low rumbled out of his throat. "Oh. You two. And here I thought my day was going to get better."

"Nehlon around?" I asked, ignoring the jab. Even though I knew he was under strict orders not to hit me, I didn't want to exactly taunt Goliath here. I wasn't a David by any means.

"Yeah," he grunted. "Go on in C-Sec, before I decide to disobey orders."

We obliged, with me making sure to keep Garrus between me and the krogan.

The music and smells hit me just as hard as last time, though I'd mentally prepared myself to not be so blown back. Nothing had changed in our absence. Shouldn't these people have jobs or something? It's the fucking afternoon on a weekday, find something less socially frowned upon to do. God…

We made our way through the tumultuous masses, shoving through the crowd with more and more agitation. At least I was, Garrus has an easier time what with being tall and a turian and everything. I was tall too but not imposing at all in civilian clothes, meaning I had to get a little more than lawfully rough with some patrons. It was easy enough to disappear in the crowds though, so Pallin probably wasn't going to get any calls.

As we approached the door leading to the back hallway, I noticed that two new security guards, both batarian, were standing watch on either side of it, trying to seem as imposing as possible.

He'd increased his security. They definitely hadn't been there before. And, with a quick sweeping glance around the main room, I noticed several more sentinels posted at varying positions around the area. They were all lightly armed with standard pistols on their belts, all trying to be imposing.

Getting a little nervous aren't you Nehlon?

The two batarian guards didn't move as Garrus made a move for the door control. But he didn't have to press it. The door opened of its own volition.

Nehlon paced out, head down, obviously consumed with his own thoughts. So consumed, in fact, that he walked straight into me. He flinched about a mile when he finally registered our presence. "Investigators!" He managed to compose himself, though the little unconscious mandible twitches were giving him away. "Excuse me, I was lost in my thoughts…"

"You ready for the sit down Nehlon?" I wanted to handcuff the guy right now, but Garrus' words were a constant reminder in my mind. Arresting him now would give him a legal excuse to exonerate himself. Patience is a virtue.

For a moment, his plated face was beset with confusion. "Sit do-" Nehlon seemed to suddenly remember what he had promised us a few hours ago. "I'm sorry Investigators, but I have business to attend to."

"That's what you said last time," Garrus said.

Another mandible twitch by Nehlon. His normal suave demeanor seemed to be shallowly covering an under layer of tension. "Yes, I apologize, but some important matters came up. One of my men failed to return a shipment of supplies I ordered and I need to track him down."

Oh really?

"We could help you with that you know," I said. "It's our job to investigate things."

"That's quite alright Investigators," he replied a tad too quickly. "It is well within my ability to handle, thank you."

"You're sure?" Garrus seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me.

Nehlon seemed like the bull at a rodeo that just had his balls clamped. "I assure you, your assistance is not necessary. It's a trivial task, nothing more."

"Will you be back soon?" Goddamnit, we had to follow him now. And not only did Nehlon look like a scared tail, but following Vince had been hard enough; we had been lucky to stay unnoticed for as long as we had.

"Yes, yes don't worry." He pushed through Garrus and I suddenly. "Please, stay, enjoy yourselves. Refreshments are on the house." He disappeared in the crowd like a smooth snake.

Garrus and I stepped back from the two batarian guards, until we were out of earshot. Which was about eight feet with the music raging on right now.

"Let's follow this fucker." I whispered to him, keeping one eye on the sentinels as a precaution.

"That won't work out too well," he replied, keeping a hawk eye on Nehlon in the shifting sea of bodies. "You saw him, he's already spooked. And, considering how hard our last tail was to follow in this neighborhood, we'd be caught right away."

"Yeah, but we can't just let him leave! What if he tries to make off like Amok?" I tried to find Nehlon but, honestly, he was hard to spot amongst the other turians. Thank God for colony markings…

"He won't," Garrus said. "He's got no reason to suspect us. And, with him leaving, that opens up a few new . . . opportunities for us." Garrus shifted his gaze higher up in the room. I turned and followed to where he was looking.

The window wall where Nehlon's office was located.

"Are . . . are you saying we should fucking break into his office?!"

"It'd be a goldmine for potential information," he said casually. "You can never have enough evidence on someone."

"Garrus, that's fucking illegal!"

His brow plate shifted. "You didn't seem to care this much when I got you that guitar."

"I. . . ." I realized at that moment how deep my hypocrisy ran here. "That's different!"

He folded his arms across his chest. "How?"

"It . . . I . . . it just is alright? What if he comes back while we're in there?"

"We'll just have to be fast then."

I swiveled to face the two batarians at the door to the back. The only door to the back as far as I knew. "And how are we supposed to get past these guys?"

His attention shifted to over my shoulder. "Watch."

"What are you. . . ."

A human couple was stumbling towards the back arm in arm, both obviously shitfaced out of their minds. They were giggling fervently, faces inches from each other as they pecked their lips with butterfly kisses. They both wobbled to a halt in front of the guards. "One room please," the male human ordered, a huge grin on his face.

The batarian hooked a thumb behind his back with the same neutral face he'd been sporting. The humans opened the door and disappeared into the hall. "Have fun," the batarian called in a bored tone. The door closed and the scene was over.

"What just happened?" I had an inkling but couldn't quite believe it yet.

"Tartarus has . . . specialized rooms for their guests," Garrus said. "Nehlon wants to satisfy them anyway he can. Or so he claims."

"So, what you're saying is, if someone brings a 'date' back there, they get full access to the back. . . ."

". . . where his office just happens to be."

My eyebrow arched involuntarily. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

His teeth barred in a wide smile. "Absolutely."

**15:47, GST**

"Explain to me your plan again."

Garrus shifted his gaze from the dance floor to me, his mandibles twitching in annoyance. "Did you not hear me the first five times?"

I took a swig of the drink the bartender had given me. "I think I missed the part where you showed me why this was a good plan in the first place."

He sighed and leaned on the bar counter with his elbows, facing the crowd. "Right, first, and this might be the most difficult part for you, one of us will find a girl to bring back there. Not too hard considering this place and its standards. Once we've done that, we'll distract her and sneak up into Nehlon's office, find any evidence worth taking on his computer and quietly slip back out. Simple."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, still not seein' the logic behind that."

"The plan itself may be risky," he said with no ounce of shame, "but the payoff will be worth it. We could get more information on his operation and find more links between Amok and Jilla at the same time. Hit two boards with one bullet."

"Yeah, I guess but . . . wait, what the hell did you just say?"

He glanced over to me. "That's the saying right? Hit two boards with one bullet?"

"Close enough. But what if Nehlon doesn't, you know, have any evidence on his computer? What then?"

His mandibles flared as we gulped down another glass of turian ale. "Do you really think he just has pictures of his kids on there?"

"No," I said, "but I also don't think he'll have any files conveniently labeled 'drug kingpin to do list' either."

"That's why you do a little thing called 'digging'," he replied dryly. I think he was starting to get annoyed by my arguing. Yeah, silly me. What with my "respect for the law" and everything. How could I be so foolish? "Just trust me, I know what I'm doing."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You know Garrus, it kinda bothers me that you're so casual about breaking the law like this."

"Well, I wouldn't call it _breaking_ the law," he said. "More of just . . . bending it. For the greater good."

"No, it's breaking it," I said. "You of all people should know that searching someone's workplace without a warrant is a violation of code."

His head slowly turned to face me. "What do you mean 'me of all people'?"

"Well, you're one of the best Investigators in the department right? I'd hate to find out that one of C-Sec's best doesn't know a basic law."

His face was becoming very hard to read, more so than usual. Normally I'd have some idea of what he was thinking but now I was in the dark. "Believe me, I'm more than familiar with how warrants work."

"And yet you're so willing to disregard them? Just barrel right through and solve shit your own way?"

He was silent for a few moments and, though his face didn't change, his expression hardened. "I'm just not afraid to do what's right."

"And this is what you call right? Preparing to break into someone's work place? Using a girl like a piece of meat?" I snorted without any humor. "Fuck, I'd hate to see what you consider wrong."

"If I have to kill a man to save a hostage, is that wrong?" he asked suddenly, eyes still squarely on the raging party in front of us. "If I have to get rough with a suspect for vital information, does that make me a bad person? And, if I have to skirt the rules to take down the scum that infest this station, does that make me a criminal?"

He finally made eye contact with me, daring me to argue with him. When I didn't, a little scared of what I saw in his eyes, he turned back to watching the floor. "The line between right and wrong isn't as clearly defined as people like Pallin like to paint it. They cling to their precious rulebooks, hugging it for direction and purpose. But it binds them, snares them. They get so caught up in trying to appease those above them that they forget to punish the ones beneath them."

The batarian bartender took his drink as soon as he set it down on the table. "I'm not like that. I do what's necessary. I do what needs to be done. Even if no one agrees with me."

I tried to laugh disbelievingly but my chest just hitched with the air. "Alright Machiavelli, that's your excuse? The ends justify the means?"

"It's not an excuse," he said. "It's how the galaxy works."

"Bullshit Garrus," I said harshly. "We have laws for a reason. If you break the very thing you've sworn to uphold, then the only difference between you and the criminals is where the gun's pointed."

"I remember when I was as idealistic as you. This job killed that grand view of the galaxy I had pretty quickly." A scantily clad asari strove past us and his head followed her, not with sexual interest but with a calculating kind. "Look Quinn, you can leave if you're not comfortable with this. Get some plausible deniability first. I can take the hit if this goes wrong, much as Pallin dislikes me he knows I'm too good to fire without a damn good reason."

I leaned back in my seat. Should I leave? It'd be a lot safer career wise if I did. Getting caught breaking the rules on the first day wouldn't exactly be the best thing for me. Maybe I could get away with being demoted to an Enforcer if Pallin just happens to be in a good mood. Other than that, I could kiss my badge toting ass goodbye. Which didn't bother me too much, but I think I should give this job at least a try for other people's sake.

But, on the other hand, it would help things go more smoothly if I did help. I'm not insulting Garrus' charisma or anything but two people working at a goal will always go faster than one person alone. I could also help him not get caught, though I don't know exactly how useful I'd be at that task. And hey, getting some action on the side definitely sweetened the deal. Not like I was going to get my dick wet here but I'll take what I can get.

And, most importantly, finding evidence of Amok's dealing with Jilla could help us get a solid conviction on the four eyed fucker. Nothing was more important right now. Goddamnit, justice needed to be done here and refusing to help Garrus in his misguided quest would be violating the rule I'd laid out for myself. I wanted to feel useful, I wanted to help someone for once in my life. Maybe then I could actually find some peace for myself.

Amok might not be coming back. And Nehlon might just get exonerated without incident. He seemed smart enough to not get any DNA on his merchandise and then all we'd have for evidence against him would be my word, which won't count for shit in a court of law. We need something substantial here. And I'll be damned if I let either of these two get away unpunished.

I sighed. "I'm good. Someone needs to keep you in line, anyway."

"Glad to see you came around." He clapped me on the shoulder but his face was still a little cold. "Now we can get to business."

"Before we start, though, let's get one thing straight here. I don't approve of this cowboy attitude you've got goin'. If we're gonna work together, we do this shit by the books from now on. Got it?"

He stared at me for an uncomfortably long time. "We'll see about that."

I watched him from my seat but he was ignoring me, staring out into the crowd. He didn't look at all like a pleasure seeker; he seemed ready to bash someone in the face. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. For the people, this is for the people. "Right, well, let's get to it then."

"Think I'm gonna have to go asari," he said offhand. "No turians around."

"Uh, shouldn't you change first?" He was still wearing his classic blue and black armor. Hardly an easily accessible ensemble. And his visor too, though that didn't surprise me. I'm pretty sure he slept with it on.

His right mandible flared. "Women do love a man in uniform."

"Fair point." I scanned the area in a professional manner. "Any particular way you wanna go about doin' this?"

"Well, I think actually talking to some girls might be effective…"

"Alright." Without moving my body, I rotated my head to the right. A blond haired human woman was sitting at the stool next to me, scowling silently at the bar counter in front of her. She'd been sitting like that for a few minutes now and hadn't made an effort to even talk to anyone else. Good enough.

Nothing eloquent came to mind so I said the first thing that did. "Hey."

Her head flicked up with an almost resigned attitude. "Back off cocknose, I have bear mace."

"Got it," I said, swiveling my head back around as she returned to her own activities.

"Smooth."

I shrugged. "Hey, I tried. Your turn now, buddy."

"Wish me luck." He pushed off his seat and promptly disappeared into the turmoil of limbs that was the dance floor. I tried to follow his fringe and the glow of his visor, but the flashing lights and the general chaos around him made disappear down the maw of this beast. He was gone.

And I was alone.

"Well shit, better get to business," I muttered to myself. Truth was that I was kinda nervous. I had never been great at picking up chicks before. I had a good collection of painful memories to prove this. Still though, it can't be too hard. Not like I'm trying to find a soul mate here or anything, just a quick one-night stand worthy girl.

I stood up with a slightly determined vigor and made my through the lingering patrons to get a better vantage point. Years of watching TV at home on Saturday night had given me a good impression of how society expects someone to pick up a girl. Mind you, I wasn't completely inexperienced as well but I'd never actually gone to a bar or club before to pick up girls. It always had seemed so demeaning to the girls.

I finally reached a good spot to set up base, near the wall next to the front door. I leaned against it, arms folded, trying very hard to seem inconspicuous. Time for my mental checklist.

Step one: Find your target.

My eyes roamed across the futuristic den, taking in every detail like a predator hunting for prey. I did my best to ignore all the alien women around. Human women would be my best option here, like it or not. I'd at least have some semblance of an idea on how to talk to them. Although those blue asari sure did sound appealing…

Yeah, nope, not going there. Stick with what I know. It'll be best for everybody.

I ignored the dance floor and instead focused my attention on the bar. And found my target almost immediately. A young human woman, with long, flowing black hair and a ridiculously tight dress on that accentuated all the right features. She was sitting alone near the corner of the bar, nursing a drink in her hand.

Like a predator emerging from the shadows (Jesus, that was creepy to think) I weaved my way over to her, my eyes never roaming from her form. I had her in my sights. She was mine.

Step two: Engage the target.

Suave mode initiated. Prepare for imminent strike in three… two… one…

"Hey there," I said nonchalantly, smoothly leaning an elbow on the counter to face her.

Her head jerked up to me in a startled fashion… then a small smile played at her lips. "Hey yourself." She took a swig of her drink, her eyes never leaving mine.

So far, so good. "What's someone like you doing at a place like this?" Corny as hell.

She smiled coyly. "Oh, you know, this and that. . . ."

I narrowed my eyes in a friendly manner. "Come on, no human comes here 'cause they like the drinks. Too many batarians."

"Yeah?" She wasn't showing any signs of kicking me in the balls yet. In fact, she seemed rather happy that someone was finally paying attention to her. "Then what're you doing here?"

I tried to pull off my smoothest smile; not too wide, with just the right amount of teeth. "Hey, I asked first."

She mimicked me. "Tough." She finished off her drink with barely a grimace, despite how strong the stuff smelled from my position. She could hold her liquor, that was for sure. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not yet.

Time to draw up my bullshit reserves. "Well, I just wanted to get some excitement, you know? The clubs on the Presidium are just too tame for me."

She raised an eyebrow, her devious smile never waning. "Really?"

Step three complete: Arouse interest.

"Oh yeah," I said with a certain amount of smugness. "I like things a little on the dangerous side."

I swear, she almost purred. "Well then, I guess I'll just have to-"

"The fuck do you think you're doing?"

I swiveled around to face the disturbance and was met with a five-fingered fist smashing squarely into my nose. Completely caught off guard, I lost my balance and sprawled to the floor on my hands and knees, my eyes watering habitually. I just managed to have the thought to face my new attacker when an amateur kick rocketed into my stomach, making me spasm on the floor in pain.

A male, brown haired human was above me, with all the fury of hell etched onto his face. "Stay the fuck away from my girl!"

Oh fuck me.

He aimed another poor stomp at me, this time trying to squash my face, but my month long training finally did me some good here. I grabbed his sticky shoe (he had stepped in something nasty very recently) with both hands, stopping him in his tracks. At the same time, I lashed out with my own foot, catching him just on the side of his knee. He grunted and almost fell over, his arms pin wheeling desperately. I threw away his foot and, from the best position I could get to on my back to my feet in two seconds, launched myself at his midriff.

We tumbled as one into the bar counter. The black haired woman screamed and threw herself out of the way as I heard the distinct crunching of glass when this man slammed into the counter. Forgetting all about etiquette, I reared to my full height, grabbed the collar of his shirt and laid out a savage jab to his face. His arm flew out over the counter and reappeared with a vengeance before I could continue, brandishing a beer bottle.

My reflexes didn't save me this time. It hit me right above the ear with amazing force but didn't shatter. My grip on his shirt loosened far too much as I reeled with the blow and he shoved me off him with a snarl. I fell backwards, my vision blurring from tears and trauma, my nose gushing blood, my head feeling ready to split wide open. I barely caught my balance and brought myself into a halfassed combat stance just as the human smashed the bottom of the bottle on the counter top, creating some very deadly looking edges to them.

My hands changed from balled fists to diplomatic palms. "Hey whoa buddy, calm down a second here."

"Fuck you asshole!" He started charging towards me, the bottle pointed out like a jousting runner. He shot it out with the business end aimed straight at my gut. But Garrus had prepared me for this. I twisted my hip as late as I dared, allowing the weapon to pass away from me and clamping down with my arm. The man tried to wrest it free, failed, snarled and aimed a knee at my groin, which ended up burying itself in my hip. I held fast, barely, but then he followed through with spitting in my eyes.

I recoiled, my head cracking back like a whip. He kneed me again, this time hitting home in my stomach. I bent over in pain and he jerked his arm free, the edge of the bottle cutting the skin of my arm as it passed through. He brought the bottle back to finish his job. . . .

And we were both suddenly flying through the air as the security guards simultaneously decided to step in. I hit the floor face first, my arms unable to cushion the fall. A huge weight pushed all the air out of me like a steamroller, compressing me to the floor. And I felt the distinctly cold metal of a gun jam into the back of my head.

"Stay still fuckface," a flanging voice said in my ear. A three fingered hand jammed my back down, lest I try anything. Like I was going to fight back with a gun at my head. From how my face was jammed into the metal ground, I could see the other human in a similar predicament, the only difference being that a batarian was the one pointing the gun. He, however, was being a dumbass and trying to resist. The batarian, not taking kindly to this, grabbed his hair, lifted his head and smashed it back down to the floor in a single swift motion.

I didn't feel too sorry for him.

"You!" The turian on top of me pointed a talon at a nearby salarian, who had been watching the whole fiasco with wide eyes. "Who started it?"

The salarian pointed his finger at the other human, whose blood was starting to collect on the floor. "Th-that one."

"Can anyone else confirm that?!" A bunch of patrons nodded, all watching the scene with a morbidly rapt fascination. "Good enough." The turian's weight suddenly vanished off me and I gasped in a fresh breath, the smell of this club never tasting so good. He wrapped a hand around my arm and dragged me to my feet. "You alright?"

"My fucking nose. . . ." I tasted my own coppery blood leak over my lips and my nose was hurting with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. Oh God, I hope it's not broken, I already have enough bruises.

The turian nodded unsympathetically. "Go clean yourself up, we'll take care of your friend here." The human, at the moment, was being lead at gunpoint by the batarian towards the front door. The black haired woman was chasing after him with a look of concern. Fucking lying whore. . . .

I spat out some blood from my mouth. "Thanks."

I began to turn to examine my bleeding face but the turian grabbed my arm again, more roughly this time. "And don't try that shit here again." He hissed, baring his teeth. "Next time we won't be so lenient, _C-Sec_." He pushed me away as he released my arm and he moved to go help his partner with the cursing human.

I made my way through the crowd, which wasn't as difficult this time considering everyone was staring at me. I mean everyone, even the people on the dance floor had stopped their mindless task to watch my progress. I managed to pass Garrus on the way too. He was visibly trying his hardest not to laugh. Needless to say I held up an unsympathetic finger to him as I passed.

I passed through the door to the back with the two batarian sentinels, who didn't even try to stop me from entering. Probably 'cause they saw the whole situation from where they were. I entered the hall and immediately swore under my breath. A human guard was standing watch, lazily patrolling up and down the corridor. Goddamnit, I hadn't considered that Nehlon might've put some security in the back too. That might be a problem.

I entered the bathroom, staggered over to the sink and doused my face with lukewarm water. The blood mixed with the water into a morbid fruit punch-esque color. I tentatively tapped my nose and immediately regretted it when the pain forced me to shut my eyes. I examined myself in the mirror. My typical Irish nose, as my dad had labeled it, was a little bent inwards, still spewing blood at an unhealthy rate.

"Damn." I jumped when I noticed the human male standing off in the corner of the bathroom, watching me with his arms folded. "No luck out there?"

I splashed more water on my face. "You could say that."

He grunted in mutual understanding. Then he dipped a hand into his jacket pocket. "You know, I've got just the thing to take the pain awa-"

I fished my badge out of my back pocket and held it out before he could finish his sentence. "Consider your next words very carefully."

The hand snapped back to his side like it was electrified. "I-I just remembered I don't have any painkillers! I'll just be going now officer!"

"Yeah, you do that," I muttered as he bolted out of the restroom. I slipped the badge back into my pocket. Dumbass.

After about a minute of verbally coaxing my nose to stop leaking, it reluctantly complied, though it still throbbed in pain like a rambunctious child. Might have to go see the medic about that. But at least I managed to not gut myself in that fight there, so I'd consider myself pretty damn lucky at the moment.

I tried to pretty myself up as best I could. 'Course I didn't really need it too much. Deep blue eyes, dirty blond hair spiked in the front, nicely tanned skin from long days at the beach, just the right amount of five o' clock shadow. And a healthy quantity of bruises and cuts for sympathy and conversation starters.

Oh yeah, I'm a fucking Greek God. If Dionysus had just lost a bar fight. And a bunch of other ones, along with falling off Mount Olympus and tumbling into the Underworld. Yeah, I looked bad. Hopefully that gave me a rugged look.

With my wounds licked and confidence not quite restored, I left the bathroom, passed the two batarian statues and found myself a spot at the bar. I needed time to prepare again. Find another suitable target. I nestled into my little perch. Now where to look. . . .

"Want anything?" the bartender asked wearily.

I was going to tell him no but my nose throbbed, reminding me of how much pain I was in. Hell, I could use a good drink right now. Might even help me loosen up. "Could ya get me a beer?"

He nodded. "Right a-"

"Make that two please."

An asari had just planted herself in the seat next to me, a devious smile on her blue lips. "I'm sure he'd be glad to get me one."

Despite myself, I smiled back. "That's awfully kind of you to think for me."

"Well I just thought I'd save you the trouble of offering to buy me the drink," she replied, her smile still wide. I noticed, with an uncertain amount of interest, the tight red dress she had on. It was snug in all the right places. And I couldn't help but be amazed at how human her curves appeared.

I snapped my eyes back up. "And what makes you think I was gonna do that?"

She shrugged. "Intuition. I've been around long enough to know the type of person that's willing to buy me drinks." Her sea blue skin swam with stunning color as the rainbow lights moved across the room, making her almost glow.

You know what, fuck it. I'll take it. "Scrap that barkeep, gimme two glasses of straight whiskey, your finest if you have it."

I'm pretty sure the guy did the batarian equivalent of an eyebrow raise. "Got it."

"Congratulations," I said. "You just conned a drink out of me."

She grinned. "You made it too easy."

"Maybe I did, you're right." The song changed on the stereos and there was a blissful few seconds of reprieve from the noise as the song kicked in. "So what's your name?"

"You first."

"John Rockefeller." Huh, not bad for pulling that completely out of my ass. Now I just need to hope she doesn't know human history that well.

"Hm." A passing salarian caught her eye and she followed him briefly. "Name's Sapphire."

I burst out laughing before I could control myself. "You really expect me to believe that's your name?"

"No," she said immediately. "But then again, did you expect me to believe yours?"

"Fair point Sapphire."

She cracked a smile that made me seriously consider the benefits of becoming a xenophile. "Thanks John."

The bartender returned without a word and slid our respective drinks over to us. Sapphire grabbed hers smoothly and downed the whole thing immediately, with nary a grimace. She licked her lips slowly and set the glass down. "Not bad. For this place at least."

I let out a low whistle, which was lost to the cacophony enveloping me. "Damn. Pretty impressive." Feeling the need to show off, I mimicked her to the best of my ability and downed the glass of green liquid.

The alcohol, I found out very suddenly, was as strong as a motherfucker. I had to use all of my willpower not to gag as it passed over my tongue. It burned like embers going down and exploded in warmth when it hit my belly. I wasn't a stranger to alcohol, like any kid growing up in America really was, but this crap almost made me beg the bartender for a chaser. Almost. I had a blue lady to impress after all.

She giggled. Straight up giggled. "You don't drink much do you?"

I forced some involuntary backwash down. "Was I that obvious?"

"Very." She raised and waved an arm around. "Can we get two more rounds over here?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I said. "Who do you think's paying for all this?"

A devious smile extended up to her devious eyes. "You don't mind do you?"

"I feel like I should . . . but I don't."

The bartender returned with the same drinks as before. This time we synchronized our drinking, each staring the other in the eye. I took the hit better, though I still had the feeling a fiery serpent was winding its way down my esophagus. We slammed our glasses upside down on the counter and wiped our mouths at the same time.

"So tell me John," she started, "any reason you're carrying a gun around?"

The pistol in my holster seemed to suddenly gain weight. I hadn't taken it off because, well, I was required to have it on me at all times. And the fact that chicks love guns.

I shrugged. "Protection. Can't be too careful in this place."

I thought I heard a purr. Though it could've been my imagination. "Ever use it?"

No. "Occasionally. If the need arises."

The bartender laid down the third round in front of us, which we finished like the second. My stomach now felt like a warm fire place and I had the faint feeling that my body was vibrating. Not just from the music either.

"Hm." She stared at me for a few moments and I had to admire the elegant curving of her fringe. It was so alien, so much more detailed when I was seeing it in real life. "Buying me drinks, armed in a crowded area, giving out an obviously fake name." She reached out a hand that lightly stroked my cheek. "Covered in bruises. Congratulations, you're everything my mother told me to avoid."

Fourth round. The bartender was now just standing next to us with a bottle in hand, refilling it when we needed it. "Is that a bad thing?" I asked, arching a sly eyebrow.

"Not at all," she said, smiling. "I hated my mother."

I genuinely laughed at that. My mood was taking a very artificial upturn. "Glad I can help spite your mother for you."

"Believe me," the fifth round appeared and she paused to hold up the glass, "the pleasure's all mine." Down the hatch we go. Where it'll end, nobody knows. . . .

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" the bartender asked with undisguised annoyance.

"Don't you have more drinks to get?" I replied, flashing a shit eating grin.

He scowled. I think actually having to be near me was a great test of patience for him. "Not for you, human."

"Ah, don't be like that!" I said happily. "Stop being such a bitch and get the lady some more drinks huh?" I clapped my hands like a spoiled child. "Chop chop!"

All four eyes narrowed at me. "That's it; I'm cutting you off. Nehlon doesn't have to throw away his money for _you_." He stomped off, probably to kick some puppies or steal candy from children. Seriously, fuck that guy.

"You get free drinks?" Her face seemed to try and do an eyebrow raise but that is a very difficult act to perform when you lack, you know, eyebrows.

"Oh yeah," I said, like it was obvious. "You could say I'm a pretty important guy. Nehlon likes to keep himself on my good side."

Her face did a very cute rendition of a disbelieving "Oh really?" expression. "And why would he want to do that? What service do you provide for him?"

Oil. "Drinks mostly," I lied. "Name the alcohol and I can get it for you." My hand did a sweeping gesture along the large shelf of booze in front of us. "All this came out of my personal stash. Nehlon was very appreciative, of course."

The skeptical face maintained itself and intensified with a smile. "So you wouldn't mind if I asked Nehlon about this would you?"

"Now why would you want to do that?" I asked playfully. "Don't you trust me?"

She leaned into her hand in a fake sense of contemplation. "Let's see, do I trust the human at the bar with a gun and a fake name? Hm, that's a tough one. . . ."

"It's true!" I said, for some reason. "Working openly with a human in this area is generally ill advised. It's a very hush-hush relationship, you know, he can't tell anyone." I gestured to the batarian bartender a little ways down. "That's why that asshole cut me off; he doesn't know it's my product."

She regarded me for a moment. "So you're telling me that you sell exotic alcohol to club owners yet can't take a little shot of whiskey?"

"I prefer to sell my merchandise; not waste it."

She laughed, not in a patronizing way but in an amused way. "I don't think I believe you John. Something about it just seems like a blatant lie."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Oh, I will." She spun in her seat to face the dance floor. "So what do you want to do now?"

My head flicked, rather unconsciously, over to the backdoor. "Well. . . ."

"Whoa, easy there John!" she said quickly, though I could tell she was… amused by the implication. "Let's take it slow here." Her gaze fell over the raging party ahead. "Why don't we dance a little first?"

"Uh, let's not." Dancing is definitely not my strong suit. As long as I'm not moving around, I can make this work. Probably. Hopefully.

"Come on." She laid a hand on my thigh. An amazingly warm hand. "It'll be fun."

Normally, I'd have tried to weasel my way out of this. But, you see kids, alcohol is a dangerous substance. It makes you do things you wouldn't normally do. It releases inhibitions. Which is both potentially liberating and damning. The end of the spectrum this case laid on had yet to be seen.

I returned with a wicked grin. "If you insist."

She slid her hand into mine and pulled me off the seat towards the party. I allowed my fears to fade away as I lost my identity to the swaying crowd.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

**15:72, GST**

Jesus Christ, I have no idea what I'm doing.

I swayed to the left, trying to time myself to the beat. Instead, I ended up bumping my elbow in some turian's chest, making him growl at me. I moved away and promptly stepped on the foot of another asari. She, in turn, slapped me hard across the face, which made me stumble back into the same turian, who now openly appeared to want to punch me in the face. I ducked in between a passing gay human couple and manage to find Sapphire amongst the chaos, enjoying herself vividly.

"You don't do this that much do you?" she shouted at me. The music was almost deafening here and it was incredibly hard to discern sounds other than the electronic bass.

"What makes you say that?" I tried to get in sync next to her by gyrating my hips kind of like she was but I ended up doing this too close to a human women. She jabbed me in the ribs and stalked off, making me stumble into Sapphire.

"Just a guess!" I was doing rather poorly. The most dancing experience I had was mosh pitting at concerts. And I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be appreciated here. So I was just trying to do what felt natural. Which wasn't working out at all. Ah, the things we do for others.

My intestines were now in an intense battle of control. See, taking multiple shots of hard liquor when you haven't built up a tolerance first is what we in the drinking game call very fucking stupid. Your stomach needs to be made of steel in order to withstand all the shock to your system. And since my liver was generally free of S.E.R., I was definitely a naive drinker. Now, add on the constant movement of the dance floor and the heavy shockwaves of the music blaring through me like bulls on parade and it would be a fair assumption to say that I wasn't the happiest camper at the moment.

Being here in the thick of the crowd was a great sociology lesson though. Everyone here was expensively dressed up, every fiber of them groomed to whatever beauty standards their culture had. They were all projecting very superficial strengths instead of internal ones. Personality was discouraged here and shallowness was almost valued. Everyone was here was about as real as a mannequin.

The beautiful people, the beautiful people

It's all relative to the size of your steeple

You can't see the forest for the trees

You can't smell your own shit on your knees

"Did you say something?" Sapphire asked loudly, turning to look me in the eye, her fringe brushing past my forehead.

Goddamnit, need to get better control over that. "No!" Feeling brave, I slowly wrapped my hands around her waist. "So, why don't you give me some dancing lessons huh? Help me out a little?"

She leaned her waist into mine. "It'd be my pleasure John!" She started swaying along to the beat, which had slowed into a short interlude, her body gently grinding up against mine. "Just follow my lead!"

I did as I was told and moved with her, our bodies twisting and grooving like we were conjoined together. She guided me, influenced me, but I maintained my own core, my own design. It was like yin yang; we were opposing spectrums, male and (technically) female, two heads of a coin. But we were balanced, we were depending on each other, we weren't two but one. A spiritual bonding of two souls, encompassed and catalyzed by overpowering music, different entities coming together like magnets. And I had never felt anything more profound or awe-inspiring in my entire life.

I was also shitfaced, which would explain why I was thinking about this when I had a hot alien babe in my arms.

"Better than before!" she said right in my ear, her lips just barely touching my skin. "I think you're officially better than a krogan now!"

"Oh I don't know about that!" I brought my hands a little higher on her, interlacing my fingers along her abdomen. "Some of them can really tear up the floor!"

She laughed. "If you mean actually tearing up the dance floor, then I agree!"

I buried my head into her neck, feeling the warmth emanating off her. "But thanks for the compliment!" She turned her head to face me and our foreheads touched. "I really appreciate it!"

Her perfect blue lips pulled into a warm smile. "You're welcome!" She pulled forward and brought her perfect lips to mine, filling me with her taste. It was there for a moment and then gone as she pulled slightly away, and I couldn't help but feel a great sense of loss. "But be careful! I think your gun's poking into my back!"

I glanced down at just the right angle.

That wasn't my gun.

"Don't worry!" I moved back into position and returned her little kiss, all the while swaying to the beat. Classy as fuck. "The safety's on!"

She surprised me by flipping around inside my grasp to face me. She was a few inches shorter but still managed to seem just as tall as me. "That's too bad! I like a little danger!"

A hum I couldn't remember wanting to make resounded out of me. "Well I could always switch it off right here!"

Something wild flickered in her eyes. "Don't you think we should go somewhere more appropriate first?"

I pulled her body close to mine, which I almost immediately regretted, seeing as my "gun" started to bend a little. "I thought you said you liked danger!" Losing all inhibitions, I bent down for a glorious kiss to put the gods to shame. Or so I'd like to say. In reality, it was pretty sloppy, with maybe just a little too much tongue but she got into it, closing her eyes and reciprocating everything.

We had stopped moving with the music and the various jabs from random elbows and knees finally made her shift back just enough to breathe. She rubbed a blue hand along my cheek. "You're so… prickly!"

"Thanks! I try!"

She didn't seem phased. "I'm glad you do! It's definitely appreciated!" She ran a hand along my scalp, from back to front, clearly enjoying the journey.

"Easy there," I said. "I've got an itchy trigger finger!" Damnit alcohol, don't screw me up now.

This time she did something that I didn't expect; the outline of her skin started to faintly glow with a blue aura. "Well I think I know the perfect solution to that." Her hand wrapped around mine in a firm embrace and started pulling me away. Towards the back.

Oh shit, it's time. The reality of what I was doing broke through my drunken mental state and I felt my heart start to pound. Jesus Christ, am I actually gonna go through with this? Bring her back, distract her and sneak into drug runner's office to steal sensitive information? That's almost straight out of a crappy buddy cop story. Maybe I should've felt more guilt about tricking this girl but, then again, rejection helps you to perfection.

Have I even thought of how I'm gonna distract her? Just… knock her out or something? Maybe? Fuck her into submission? God, I've put no goddamn thought into this at all!

While I was panicking with these sudden revelations, Sapphire pulled me to the back door. The batarians standing guards noticed me and, at the exact same time, smirked. "Go on back," one of them ordered. Sapphire obliged and pulled me in, where I noticed the batarian on the left snickering and pointing at my groin. My blush was almost glowing hot.

In the hallway, I caught my nerve and retained some authority, pulling ahead with new speed. I popped open the nearest door and pulled Sapphire in. Just as the doors closed, that human guard I'd noticed earlier passed by, not even glancing our way. I'm gonna have to deal with him…

The room inside was exquisitely sinful. Glowing lightly pink from a single bulb on the ceiling, the room contained three main items; a plush velvet rug, a low drawer stacked with all kinds of bottles along with a giant orange dildo (complete with four testicles) and a medium sized bed snugly fit in the back. It had just a slight hint of disinfectant and sweat, enough to notice and grimace at. It would have to do.

Time to get serious. I reached down and scooped Sapphire up in my arms with no warning and carried her over to the bead. She gasped and blushed as I clunked down harder than I intended on the surprisingly malleable bed. I leaned back and she purposefully leaned into me and, in a matter of a few weightless moments, I became pressed between asari and mattress.

Our lips locked again and more passionately so, our tongues intertwining together. The alcohol in my system was making my head vibrate with a numb pleasure and the muzzled music was pulsing through me with each electronic beat. All my nerves were alive and taking in life with all its glory and ferocity. My hands roamed over her form, the softness of her skin very distinguishable through her clothing. She sat up suddenly, taking her enveloping warmth with her and at that moment the loss of her touch in my hands was like losing a limb.

Her smile was sly and full of lust as she reached down and pulled up on her outfit, peeling off the material with ease. Her breasts, now with just one last layer protecting them, bounded out like stage girls and just the sight of them sent a wave of warmth cascading through my body.

What was I supposed to be doing again?

She flared her biotics more profoundly this time, her entire figure suddenly outlined by a lighter blue. The contrast in skin tone made her glow like a soft star and for my pants to feel incredibly tight. Then I started glowing. My heart skipped a beat when I thought I'd be lifted but instead I had a sense of lightness. I breathed in deep, feeling the absence of weight in my chest. I was now probably as light as a feather.

She smirked and, still glowing, came down over me again, reuniting our lips. Her hands slithered under the edge of my shirt and ran along my bare stomach. Her amazingly warm hands ran over a bruised rib and I winced inwardly. Instead of pulling away, I decided to do some exploring of my own. I run my fingers down her lower back till finding the soft mounds of her ass, which I instantly took firmly in my hands. She gasped again but kept up her pace, this time lifting herself enough to rip off my own shirt with my assistance.

She moved to my right and pulled me onto my side, our mouths still connected as one and our limbs beginning to mingle. She reached down to return the favor, which I wasn't sure if I was longing for. Losing all sight of anything outside the moment, I came up to her bra and began to rather feverishly attempt to free her girls from their cage. All while holding her taste on my tongue. But the band wouldn't undue itself. Frustrated, I tried progressively harder and harder to complete this puzzle while I felt her pull an oval shaped object out of my pocket. . . .

The ghost of her arm brushed me as she lifted it up to glance at it. And I had just undone her bra when her eyes widened and she pushed me roughly away.

"What the hell is this?" she said, her face twisting into anger.

"What's what?" I tried to reach for her but she, taking me completely by surprise, bashed me in the jaw with a plush fist. I fell back on the bed, more shocked than hurt, as she jumped up. I dimly noted the weight of my gun vanish at my waist. My head swam and I forced myself to lift it.

She was now standing over me with my gun pointed sloppily at me, her breasts bouncing freely as she held out my badge in her other hand.

Fuck.

"You're C-Sec?" she said wildly, her whole demeanor turning aggressive.

"I-I. . . ." Most of my blood wasn't currently at my brain and had to now sprint back to the control center. "Look, I can explain, alright? Just. . . ." My bare chest suddenly felt very vulnerable to bullets. "Just put the gun down huh?"

"Is this a sting operation?" Her voice had risen considerably and she had to reaffirm her grip on the gun. She shook the gun in an intimidation tactic, her tits bouncing majestically in the process. "Answer me!"

"No! I'm j-"

"Is it?"

"NO! God, fuck, put the gun down!"

She didn't obey and brought the gun closer to my face, the barrel about a foot from my head. "I'm not a part of Nehlon's op alright! Leave me alone!"

My raised right hand was tantalizing close to the gun but my left hand was closer to the drawer. More specifically, the krogan dildo sitting proudly atop it. It looked sturdy enough to be a weapon. If I could just distract her long enough. . . .

"Look Sapphire," my hand inched closer to the toy, "just calm down alright? Put the gun down and we can talk about this. Okay?"

"Are you on duty right now?" she asked coldly, not moving my weapon at all.

"Just the put the gun down first and we ca-"

"Are. You. On. Duty?"

Just a little goddamn closer. . . .

"No, of course not," I lied. "Why do you think I'm wearing civilian clothes?" That was a hollow excuse; Investigators were plain clothes so I could be wearing anything (within reason) that I wanted. But she didn't need to know that.

"You could be undercover," she replied. From the way the gun was quivering, she was inexperienced with firearms. She might accidentally blow my brains out; I'd misfired the thing plenty of times.

Almost . . . there. . . .

"But I'm not! I could've gone undercover in a lot of better ways than being some douche at a bar!"

Her face hardened. "Like how?"

Shitshitshit. "Look Sapphire, I'm not on-duty. Trust me, alright?"

My fingers were now right on the cusp of the artificial phallus.

"I can't take that chance _John_." She backed up a step, unknowingly in a better area for me to swing. "You're C-Sec. And that means I can't trust-"

The door behind her opened. Time slowed down.

Her body twisted to face the new entrant. With speed I couldn't even hope to casually replicate, my hand wrapped around the sticky toy while I popped up like a bullet. The dildo came out in a wide arc, knocking over a few bottles along the way, which ended climactically on her fringe. She spasmed and stumbled backwards, not quite unconscious yet. Heart pounding and adrenaline pumping, I swung again, putting all my weight into it. The entire length of the cock smashed into her jaw, making her eyes widen comically wide. She twisted and fell to the ground without a sound, very subdued.

Euphoria erupted inside. "Yeah! Fucking got you! How do you like me no-"

I stopped when I saw who the entrant was. Garrus was standing in the doorway, mandibles slightly slack, wide eyes directly on me. I had never seen a more complete look of confusion on his plated face. Moderate silence reigned.

"Uh . . . it . . . I can explain. . . ."

He started backing up slowly. "I'll just come back later. . . ."

"No, no, it's good." I dropped the phallus (which made an embarrassingly loud thud when it hit the floor) and pried my gun and badge from Sapphire's unconscious hands. "I was just distracting her. Is all."

He didn't seem convinced. "Is this some weird human sexual thing I haven't heard of?"

My face was blushing with unparalleled force. Goddamnit Garrus, making this awkward. "No, she found my badge, thought I was tryin' to bust her and grabbed my gun. That wasn't a goddamn fantasy I have."

"It's alright, I'm not judging you. . . ."

"For fuck's sake Garrus, let it go."

He glanced down the hallway before stepping into the room and closing the door. "If you say so." He nodded to the floor. "That's a very . . . specific weapon you chose."

"Is the coast clear out there?" I asked, trying to shift the conversation. This is definitely gonna be something I'm gonna repress from now on.

"Don't worry." He keyed up his omnitool. "I work a little faster than you do."

I hurriedly pulled my shirt back on. "You already hacked the computer?"

He grinned. "I sure did. And I found some very interesting things on there as well."

"Wait, wait so I did this shit," I gestured to the asari on the floor, "for nothing? I could've sat this one out?"

The grin widened. "You weren't completely useless. I think you just taught her to avoid humans altogether."

"Yeah, that's probably for the better anyway." I took a large step over the body, almost losing my balance as I did so. Future whiskey is some good shit. "So what'd you find?"

"Nothing too substantial," he said, sounding a tad disappointed. "But, I did find a very interesting message, received around the time we were first talking to him." I thought back to a few hours ago. And remembered Nehlon getting said message, then suddenly looking afraid for a split second. "Here, read it yourself."

_The deal's been changed. Bring the tribute to Docking Bay B-26 tonight at 1:00 and we can officially recognize our new partnership. And don't try anything funny or we won't hesitate to waste your ass._

_Eclipse._

"You call working with fucking Eclipse not substantial?"

He hummed, exiting out the message. "Wait till you see his reply."

_While I might have appreciated more notice for this schedule shift, rest assured I can definitely rearrange production to meet this new arrangement. As a gesture of trust, I will send my head of security and top guards to oversee this deal. The tribute is prepared and ready, nothing less than our top quality product. I hope this will be the start of a very prosperous relationship for both sides._

_Nehlon Tornnus_

I blinked through the haze. "So Amok's. . . ."

". . . been here this whole time," Garrus finished, closing out his tool. "Nehlon lied to us."

It hit me then. That human guard I'd seen earlier, who'd been whispering orders into his earpiece when we arrived. He'd been fucking warning Amok to hide!

"Well then," I cracked my knuckles, "I do believe we have a drug deal to crash. Let's get to it."

"What about her?" He nodded towards Sapphire.

I hesitated for a moment . . . then reached down and picked up the fake alien cock off the floor. It did have my fingerprints on it after all. "What about her? I don't think she'll want to talk about this little experience to anyone any time soon." I shifted the dildo in my hand, trying to find a good grip on the sticky toy. "Plus, she pulled the gun. I was just defending myself."

He snorted. "Fair point. And I assume that's for professional purposes?"

"Of course Garrus. I already have enough of these at home."

"I'm going to hope that was a joke. . . ."

We stepped out of the room, me carrying my new prize, and headed down the hallway. The human guard was gone; Garrus must've taken care of him. I didn't even care anymore. The mission had been accomplished; now it was time to eat the fruits of our labor.

We left through the door out back to the familiar area of sin. No one bothered the bruised human with a gun at his waist and an orange dildo in his hand as we marched through, our previously cold case now alive and kicking. An excited feeling filled my blood and I flexed my fingers unconsciously. The quickening had begun.

You better watch out Amok. 'Cause there's a world of shit coming your way.

**A/N: And the plot thickens...**

**Here's the song I quoted, The Beautiful People by Marilyn Manson . www .youtube watch?v=scg4tGpBXKc.**

**Just to let you all know, Manson isn't as bad as the conservative media (hell, all of the media) likes to portray him. He's very intelligent and his songs reflect that enormously. So many people just judge him off his stage antics and appearance and don't actually listen to his music or the things he says. Give him a listen; you might find you enjoy his music or agree with his message. **

**See you all next time!**


	12. Minutes to Midnight

Chapter Twelve:

Minutes to Midnight

"I'll be

Watching, waiting,

Dreadful, shaking.

Will the storm pass over us today?

Will lightning strike our sins away?"

_Storm to Pass, Atreyu_

**20:42, GST**

I am not a patient man.

Society always puts great value on being a patient person, to have the ability to tolerate otherwise intolerable situations or people. People praise those who have a high threshold for anger or annoyance and even I have to admire some impressive feats of the craft. My mom had been a preschool teacher and she holds my eternal respect for not strangling one of those snot-nosed little shits. Seriously, you don't even know how annoying those little brats can be (I'm a great babysitter by the way). But, aside from all the classic adages and quotes, society also holds a high regard for those who push ahead and solve things fast and effectively, without waiting for anybody. The human spirit, as it is commonly called, to pass expectation and rise against standards. So, we laud both patience and impatience. At the same time.

Human society is odd, no?

But then, that's always been our mantra. Be the craziest motherfuckers we can be. It's not even an ignorant hypocrisy; we're fully aware of this and embrace it wholeheartedly. Spending my time largely amongst aliens had given me a new perspective on humanity; we're fucking crazy. And it's plain to see when juxtaposed with so much sanity. We are currently the only species in the galaxy that has ever had suicide bombings as a legitimate war tactic. We designate civilians as untouchables… and then kill them anyway. We condemn warfare with self-righteous gusto and then immediately flip around and start attacking like rabid dogs. We nuked cities to stop war. Just think about that for a moment, historical context aside. That's pretty fucked up, no matter how you try and paint it.

Huh . . . you know, that kinda sounded like the cliché diatribe the protagonist in almost every noire type story gives, usually in a very gruff and melancholic attitude. Probably while smoking a cigar on a dimly lit street, in a harsh downpour for good effect. I don't really want to be that guy; he's too much of a Hollywood nihilist for my tastes. Seriously, life doesn't completely suck, stop fucking complaining about it. You're whiny, annoying and no one but pseudo hipsters are gonna like you.

Wait . . . wait, what was I talking about again? Sorry, I'm a little hungover and I tend to become a vitriolic douchebag when I'm feeling like shit. This isn't that far off from my normal demeanor (I see myself as a more vulgar Holden Caulfield) but it gets more pronounced. Right, uh . . . okay, patience.

Anyway, like I said, I am not the most patient individual. So it would logically follow that I would not be a good candidate for a stakeout. Those usually involve lots of, you know, waiting. The bane of my existence. While it is a nice reprieve from the other less agreeable aspects of this job, it is also exactly that. Waiting. Waiting for the criminals to get there, waiting for your partner to shut the hell up, waiting for your Chinese takeout to arrive, you name it. It's pure, unadulterated, endorphin swallowing waiting.

And, well, here we are. At a stakeout. Funny how life does that to you.

Garrus and I had gotten approval from the Pallin to oversee this little shady deal. This time, I had been the one to come up with an excuse. "Bar gossip". Complete ass pull on my part but it was fairly plausible, emphasis on fairly. Pallin had been skeptical (probably because I was the one telling him this), but had agreed to let us do this, if only to get me to stop asking him about it. But we weren't to interfere at all; no arrests, no casualties, nothing. Which was fine by me, wasted years in a cell is better than death anyway. Death is easy and (can be) painless; living is hard, especially with regret and boredom. And I wanted Amok to suffer…

Damnit, ok, I'm doin' it again. Gotta stay on track. I'm a shitty narrator. . . .

It didn't help that the area wasn't exactly a glamorous locale either. Docking Bay B-26 was basically a flat, rectangular area sticking out of the Citadel near the Presidium docks. Below it was, quite literally, nothing but the Serpent Nebula. They must've had artificial gravity going somewhere. In the middle was an open circular area where loading cars would land. The area around that, however, was a parkour's paradise. Futuristic crates of varying sizes were stacked close together along the edges, providing very convenient spots for cover. It was a high tech rat maze.

We were on an adjacent rooftop, a flat little area with a three foot high lip running along the edge of the roof. This meant I could reasonably relax while not having to lie on my stomach all the time. Adding on the thin shadow from an overhead section of the Presidium, it would be pretty damn difficult to be spotted in this spot. It was ideal for our job.

Holy Mother of Christ, I was bored.

"I can feel my hair growing," I said, trying to pass my irritation onto my partner. Misery does love company.

Garrus glanced up from his omni-tool. "Is that normal?"

Ah yes, I'm with an alien that doesn't naturally have hair. Strange how that's starting to slip my mind. "Not usually, no. It just happens in more… extreme cases of boredom. Like now for instance."

He trilled his sub harmonics like the bird man he was. "What's that feel like, having these little fibers growing out of you all the time? Seems like a nightmare to me."

I shrugged. "It's mostly just annoying, having to manage it all the time. Trimming, cutting, bathing, all that. Although getting a haircut is probably one of the best feelings there is, hands down."

He seemed dubious. "Cutting off a part of yourself feels good?"

"Well, when you put it like that, yeah it's gonna sound bad."

"Is there any other way to put it?"

"Uh, shedding excess waste?"

"With sharp tools?"

The dull headache I'd been sporting for an hour reared its head and I returned to watching nothing. Glamorous. "You just don't what you're talking about."

"Apparently not. . . ."

I reaffirmed my grip on the binoculars I'd been using. Not like I needed them really. We had just spent the last hour peppering cameras, listening devices, motion detectors, etcetera around the area. If there was a hobo feverishly masturbating back there, we would unfortunately be aware of it. Garrus was in the process of remotely activating and double checking each one. If everything went according to plan, we could slap Amok with so much legal shit he'd be drowning in judicial spankings.

But when has anything ever gone according to plan huh? My life's basically a cop drama now; you can certainly expect Finagle's Law to come into effect here. That seemed to be the norm nowadays.

Aside from a lonely salarian stacking boxes into a large truck, there was no movement or signs of life. Just the little frogman burning the midnight oil, tumbleweeds completely absent. A man can only stare at this for so long before losing his sanity. So I decided to try and strike conversation again, this time with a new target.

"So Jaran," I asked again, "see any Eclipse yet?"

Jaran was half crouching along the high lip, scanning the area much like me. Garrus had enlisted his help a few hours earlier, for no apparent reason other than having someone else to talk to. I didn't mind too much, Jaran was decent company, but I was . . . _slightly_ concerned about what he'd brought to the stakeout. He was using a new Mantis to scan the place, peering through the scope. Despite my repeated advisements not to bring it, he had insisted on it, saying "just in case". Which didn't calm me down at all, but Garrus had sided with Jaran on it. So I had gone along like a good little sheep and was now just hoping we wouldn't have to use it.

Though I didn't check, I felt an exasperated glance being tossed my way. "For the fifth fucking time Quinn, I don't see anyone! Stop asking!"

"Okay! God, no need to be pissy about it," I said with a slight chuckle. There's always something so entertaining about intentionally pissing someone off. At least to me. Which probably explains why not too many people like me.

"I'd recommend not annoying the man with a high powered sniper rifle," he said, bringing the rifle around towards the salarian below. He kept it aimed at him for a few seconds before continuing in a sweep. "It can be hazardous to your health."

"You know, I can see a beautiful friendship blossoming here Jaran."

"Now you see what I've been dealing with all day," Garrus muttered.

"I feel for you Garrus, I really do."

"Hey, I'm not that bad," I said. "I _could_ be singing show tunes right now couldn't I?"

Jaran adjusted his scope minutely. "Quinn, I don't even know what that is and I can guarantee that I would kill myself if you started singing it right now."

I cleared my throat in a purposefully loud manner.

"Welcome to our soiree

Flaming hot pink bouquets

New rainbow Milky Way

Come out and pla-"

I stopped the song when Jaran started actually aiming the rifle in my direction. "Okay shit, I get it! Don't point that thing at me!"

He brought the gun back and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a racial slur. "What time is it?"

"Almost twenty fifty," Garrus said promptly, still typing on his tool. Probably doing some calibrations . . . yeah, that's not really funny anymore. Not like it ever really was.

"And these criminal fucks are coming in half an hour right?"

"That is correct," I said. In sheer boredom, I started counting the boxes the salarian was loading. fifty nine . . . sixty . . . sixty one. . . .

"So we're gonna just wait here until then?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Sixty three . . . sixty four . . . sixty five. . . .

Jaran sighed. "Remind me why I'm helping you two again."

"I believe your exact words were 'It's better than doing this shit'," Garrus told him. Sixty seven . . . sixty eight . . . sixty nine. . . .

"Well I stand corrected then."

"I believe you are sitting down Jaran," I said thoughtfully. The salarian was starting to run out of boxes. He'd be leaving soon. Which means all my entertainment would as well. That's kinda sad to think about. Just like my lif- nope, not gonna be negative anymore. Think positive. Sunshine and butterflies shitting rainbows and all that stuff.

"Have you ever wondered what taking a sniper bullet to the kneecap is like Quinn? I can show you for free."

"I think I'll pass." I lowered the binoculars. "Are they ready yet Garrus?"

"Should be working any second now." Much as I'd like to say what he was doing, I had no idea. I had limited tech knowledge and Garrus was having trouble bringing me up to speed on modern technology. I felt like a caveman. "There, all clear now." He exited out his tool and slid in between Jaran and I. Our trap was set.

"And now we can wait some more," Jaran said dryly.

The salarian left unceremoniously in the loaded truck, without a single goodbye. I might have been able to enjoy the view of the Serpent Nebula (there was an atmospheric covering over the place, letting everyone walk around unsuited while appearing to be in space) if I hadn't been seeing it for the past month. If you have to see something for a long time, it tends to lose its luster. Strange, I know. Sunsets, I knew from experience, grow annoying if you have to watch them every day.

I ducked back down and rested against the small wall. I pulled up my omni-tool. Might as well search the extranet. I had a decent grasp on how to actually manipulate this technology. And I knew what I wanted to find.

I typed in "Commander Shepard". In all my time here, I hadn't actually thought of trying to figure out what kind of person he/she was yet. I'd been too caught up with C-Sec and Garrus and mourning my dead family while fighting suicidal tendencies and living on the streets. You know, little things like that. And now was as good a time as ever so why not right?

Hundreds of links sprang up, each with many capital letters and exclamation points. I clicked on the first link... and was immediately bombarded with spam, a good chunk of it very crass pornography. Even in the future things hadn't changed much. I exited out of that and repeated the process for a few more links, each earning the same result. Christ, if I wanted to watch porn, I'd fucking type it in. I can find it on my own time…

"So what exactly are we doing here?" Jaran asked, now just watching a turian dreadnought drift by. "I hope we're not spying on these people for shits and giggles. That's just creepy, considering the amount of hardware you two stashed around the place."

Had no one really filled him in on this? "There's a preliminary deal between a local drug operation and Eclipse. The whole deal too, tribute and everything. We're here to watch it and crash the after party." I still couldn't believe that. Eclipse, of all the people Nehlon decided to jump in bed with, it had to be Eclipse. It made sense sure, they were a sacred cash cow for the red sand industry, but I'd be deathly afraid of a double cross. Maybe that's just me though, I wouldn't trust a criminal to breathe properly, let alone not stab me in the back.

He glanced over to me, his mandibles clicking. "How did you two go from a dead body in a back alley to busting fucking Eclipse? That's a big damn leap of priorities."

I rolled my eyes, letting out a resigned sigh. "It's a long story."

"Well we don't have anything better to do here do we? And I'd like to know just what the hell I'm about to get into. Things like that tend to help me feel better about shady midnight drug deals."

"You don't trust me Jaran?" Garrus asked, purring just barely.

"Not even for a second Garrus."

Garrus laughed, sitting with his back to the wall. "I'm hurt that you'd say that. After everything I've done for you. . . ."

"Yeah, cry me a river." He settled the rifle on the ledge and reached to the back of his belt. He produced a white cigarette pack, seemingly from nowhere, and flipped it open with a flick of his wrist. And then he growled. "Fuck, I knew I should've stocked up." He tossed the container over the edge and it fell down into the great abyss below. "This is going to be a long night."

"Littering's a crime, you know," I said absently. "And smoking's pretty bad for you."

"What was that Quinn?" he asked, reaffirming his grip on the gun. "I couldn't hear you up on your high pedestal. Speak louder."

I snorted. "Hey, you can kill yourself if you want to. Be my guest."

"Oh, don't tell me you're one of those 'holier than thou' types. If there was ever something I really hate, it's those types who look down on others, like they're better than everyone else."

"No, not really," I said, adjusting the zoom. "Just saying, smoking's probably gonna kill you. Have fun with it."

"Yeah, I will, thanks." He brought the gun down and turned his head to us. "Now, explanation?"

"The prumac lead turned out to be a dead end," Garrus started. "The suspect gave us a likely batarian suspect but, aside from nearly killing Quinn, nothing else. After Pallin chewed us out for the market ordeal. . . ."

". . . we got an ID on Jilla's mate from Adreon," I took over. "A real asshole of a batarian named Amok, working at a shitty club named Tartarus. We went to bring him in but his boss, a weirdly polite turian named Nehlon, told us he'd beat feet off the Citadel. . . ."

". . . so, while we were at the bar waiting for Nehlon to be able to answer some questions," Garrus continued, "Quinn caught him talking to an oddly dressed human named Vince and handing him a suspicious package. We tailed the human back to his house, where we confirmed the package held a significant amount of red sand. . . ."

". . . and after taking Vince in, we went to talk to Jilla's parents while the evidence cleared. After the drunken father berated me for the First Contact War, they told us Jilla had been 'involved' with Amok before disappearing and had likely been helping him traffic red sand. With that in mind. . . ."

". . . we went back to Tartarus, but Nehlon left before we could talk to him. But, after a couple . . . creative diversions, I snuck into his office and pulled a few files from his computer. One of them held a conversation with an Eclipse representative about this deal which Amok was supposed to attend. . . ."

". . . and here we are," I finished. "Waiting to fuck him in the ass with pure justice and topple Nehlon's operation with the evidence."

"Aw, how adorable," Jaran said, eyes flickering between Garrus and I. "You're finishing each other's sentences already. Next you'll fuck, buy a house on the Presidium and raise a couple of mutant, hybrid kids as ugly as sin."

Garrus and I exchanged a glance. "He's not my type," we said in unison, with almost the exact same tone and inflection.

Jaran smirked. "Case in point." He rested his head against the lip and moaned. "Spirits, I could use a smoke right now. And a drink. And a nice woman to fuck." He tilted his head in momentary contemplation. "You know, there's a lot of shit I could use right now."

I continued on with my little investigation and, as if fate had smiled upon me, found the right link. It was the official Alliance website, very professional and high grade. It directed me to Shepard's page with all the unclassified information on him/her, which was really only basic info. Good enough.

"But that doesn't explain why the girl was missing for six months beforehand," Jaran said, rather obviously. "Or why it looked like she lost a fight with a flight of stairs."

"We're hoping Amok can fill us in on that part," said Garrus. "Otherwise, we haven't found a connection."

"Judging from the file on Amok," I chipped in, "he's definitely a violent motherfucker. I wouldn't put domestic violence past him." I wouldn't put a lot past him at this point. It may be thinking on a one-track mind and there was no denying I was biased here, but C-Sec records don't lie. And once a psychopathic piece of shit, always a psychopathic piece of shit. It's kind of a rule.

"Or unlawful imprisonment, as the barefaces would say," Jaran continued. "Locking her in a basement, beating and raping her at will. That's kinky shit right there." He paused. "If that's what he did, of course."

"I don't think we're really wondering at this point," Garrus said, bleakly. I nodded in agreement.

After I exited out of all the spam (the majority of which featured a rather well-endowed krogan on the front), I finally was able to access the meat. Let's see, gender is . . . male. Not bad, I guess. Though it doesn't really matter what gender they are, they'll still be a badass. Full name is Nathaniel Cathal Shepard. Cathal huh? That's a fucking Irish name if I've ever heard one. Maybe he won't be so bad after all.

Home planet . . . Earth. So the renegade background then. Shit. And it looks like Shepard's first posted planet was . . . Akuze. Damn, this might turn out to be a real violent Shepard with PTSD. Why couldn't I get a paragon? But then again, I always chose the Earthborn back ground and was a goody two shoes paragon each time. Maybe he's grown past his violent routes by now? A man can hope. Man, I really hope so.

"So, what happened to you Quinn?" Jaran asked, shaking me from the screen. "You seem to have gotten more fucked up since the last time I saw you."

Back at Base, I had gone to see the medic again. Turns out I'd managed to bruise my nasal bone in that little bar fight. And that the medic was all out of antihistamines. Which meant I had to walk around with my nose looking like a dented tomato. Needless to say, the ladies were all over me. As usual. "Life happened," I said.

"What, did life fucking bulldoze you over?"

"Something like that, yeah." I was starting to get tired of everyone telling me how shitty I looked at the moment. "You should see the other guy though."

"You really should Jaran," Garrus said. "I heard Quinn gave him a scraped knee." He shook his head with a mocking hum. "Terrible."

"Really?" he said with jest. "Did he at least make it to the hospital?"

Garrus nodded. "Barely. Had to be resuscitated a few times from shock and blood loss."

"Are they gonna have to amputate?" Jaran asked, developing a wide shit eating grin. Turians should really never smile like that; they always seem like they're gonna bite your arm off when they do.

"More than likely. Though he doesn't have insurance to pay for it. He'll be in debt for the rest of his life."

"But what about his kids?"

"They'll probably have to live on the streets, since he can't afford his apartment anymore," Garrus said. "Probably getting into drugs and gangs, ending up dead in some back alley with their pockets as empty as their lives."

"Damn Quinn," Jaran said, resting the Mantis against the lip. "I don't know if I can look at you the same way anymore."

"Just to let you both know," I said, "I didn't just scrape his knee. I also scuffed his elbow."

"Oh right, how could I forget?" Garrus said with a smile. "I'll get it right next time, I promise."

"Yeah, you do that Garrus." I finished scanning Shepard's profile but it didn't say what class he was. Guess I'll find out in a few years. "By the way Jaran, that was a nice little stunt with Khalisah there."

"Shit, you saw that?" he asked, his harmonics lowering a tad.

"I'm pretty sure half the galaxy has by now," Garrus said. "It was certainly . . . colorful."

"Yeah and you know what? Fuck that bitch. Someone needs to knock her off her fucking pedestal. She's a stupid pyj-" He cleared his throat and threw a quick glance my way. "I mean, uh, she's a bitch. Yeah."

"Uh huh," I said, deciding to ignore that comment. "You do know there are better ways of telling her that right? Ones that won't risk your job?"

"I'm sure there are. I'm just not gonna use 'em. People like her need to hear things straight and unfiltered or else they'll keep walking around with their heads packed neatly in their asses."

I think we might be able to get along Jaran.

"Speaking of risking your job," Garrus started, "how did the talk with Pallin go? Was it just the usual empty threats?"

"Pretty much." Jaran leaned his head over the edge and hocked a loogie to the ground below. How he did that without lips I don't think I'll ever know. "Started goin' off about how it," he cleared his throat again and began talking in a poor rendition of Pallin's voice, "'how it's your civic duty to maintain a professional attitude, to always be a good fucking idiot and never question authority. Now, I'm going to give you two weeks of traffic duty because I have a stick up my ass and hate the sound of children's laughter.'"

I snorted. "Yeah, that sounds like him. But you left out the part where he steals candy from babies."

"Right, I should've mentioned he said that with the candy in his mouth, the little starving orphan boy crying for him to give it back."

"Ah, now that's better. Really completes the scene."

"Two weeks though?" said Garrus. "That's lighter than he usually gives you."

Jaran agreed with a hearty laugh. "I think he's starting to realize that all the extra shit isn't gonna work. Though the pay docks are starting to hurt. It's getting hard to pay the rent and my landlord is starting to come down hard on me."

"Wait, wait," I said. "Usually gives? You've done this shit before?"

They both broke out into laughter. "You don't watch Westurland News do you?" Garrus asked. "He's practically a permanent guest."

"She never fucking recognizes me either," Jaran added. "I swear she thinks all turians look alike. Or she thinks everyone else can't tell the difference."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Oh yeah no, you guys totally don't all look alike. Totally."

"You implying something Quinn?" Garrus said, casting a bemused expression my way. I think.

"Yeah, are you?" Jaran leaned over to stare at me too.

"No! No, of course not! I'm just saying that… well, without the face painting…"

"Hey, I could say the same thing about humans," said Jaran. "Without your hair, you'd all fucking look alike."

"Bullshit. Garrus, you could pick me out of a crowd right?"

He hummed in thought for a moment. "How big is the crowd?"

"Hey!"

"Sorry Quinn, he does have a point," he said, sounding completely unapologetic. "It's a nightmare picking your kind out of a lineup."

"Not to mention the disgusting way you cry," Jaran added on. "Spirits, the snot and the waterworks, it's horrifying…"

"Thank you!"

I waved a dismissive hand. "You turians are all racist!"

"Careful," Jaran warned, "you're starting to sound like the bitch herself. Just add a little camera and you've got news gold right there."

"Hey," Garrus nudged Jaran's shoulder, "remember when you knocked her out at that charity event?"

Jaran guffawed, his mandibles coming out so fast I thought they might detach from his face. "That was a good day! Hit that bitch in her squishy face, Pallin almost busted a plate, got free rounds for that month. I'd do it again if Pallin hadn't promised to rip my spurs out. And if she hadn't hit me with a lawsuit big enough to crush a krogan."

"But it was worth it for the shots right?" I asked.

"Damn right Quinn! Damn right!"

We both chuckled at our shared hatred of this woman for a bit before sinking into a thin silence. The station hummed and groaned as it continued with its task of supporting millions of lives. Numerous frigates were lazily floating by overhead, ships from multiple species patrolling every critical point. The air, while still tasting of recycling, was warm and comfortable. All in all, it was a peaceful night. It didn't exactly compare to the nights back on Earth but it was more or less an apt substitute.

I miss home.

"So," I began, "we still got a good while before the show starts. Anyone got anything to do?"

"You wanna hear the tale of when I punched the bitch?" Jaran asked. "I'm feeling all nostalgic now. And it's a great story for parties, might help you get your dick wet."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, like I need that help."

Both turians exchanged a quick glance and burst out laughing, shaking their heads in disbelief. "Damnit Quinn, don't make me laugh like that!" Jaran said. "The mercs might hear me. . . ."

"Let me tell it," Garrus offered, still chuckling a little. "You always exaggerate everything. Especially the volus part."

"Hey, they are vicious little fuckers!"

"Right, gotta be careful or else they'll kick your shins something fierce. . . ."

"I think I wanna hear Jaran's version," I said. He seemed like a better story teller than Garrus. More colorful language. "Why let truth get in the way of a good story right?"

"You see Garrus!" Jaran said, gesturing to me. "He gets it! Why can't you be like that?"

Garrus folded his arms with a melodramatic huff. "Fine. But I'm correcting any egregious errors. Or anything that paints me in a bad light."

"Well you did tackle a salarian diplomat. . . ."

"You know why I-"

"And bust that priceless krogan sculpture. . . ."

"I'm pretty sure you did tha-"

"And hit on the Primarch's daughter. . . ."

"That one wasn't my fault!" he said. "You saw the dress she was wearing, how was I supposed to ignore that?"

"Christ, this sounds like a doozy of a story," I said with sincere curiosity. "I kinda wanna hear it now."

"Sure, if Garrus here will stop whining for a moment."

"I am not-"

"Yes you are, don't lie to me. It hurts my feelings."

"You're the one whose-"

"If the old married couple could stop arguing for a moment, we could maybe start this?"

Jaran flexed his mandibles. "Right, let's get to this." He laid out the rifle in his lap with gentle care. "Alright, it was an average Presidium day and the clocks were just striking thirteen. . . ."

**20:76, GST**

". . . so then she starts bleeding really fucking bad, like a red fountain. Meanwhile, Garrus is running around screaming for his pants with the Primarch's daughter chasing him, threatening to rip his cock off. . . ."

"I never found those by the way."

". . . and the little volus asshole is still yelling at me, talking about his 'rights' or some stupid shit. Finally, I just couldn't take it anymore. I got a good running start and punted the little fucker."

"Dude."

"Little advice Quinn, don't _ever_ do that. Little shits are made of stone or something, I don't know, I just remember I couldn't walk right for a couple days after that." He broke out into rambunctious laughter. "They make the most hilarious noise when you hit them though. Almost like a hanar getting squished."

"Jesus Christ Jaran." He'd been making blunt comments like that throughout the whole thing. I'm pretty sure he'd used the word bitch over sixty times by now. Not to mention saying fuck more times than an Eastern European porno.

"So he goes flying. . . ."

"By that you mean tumbled three feet right?"

"Hey, who's telling the story here Garrus? Huh, who is?"

"Do you really want me to answer?"

"Yes!"

"You are…"

"Exactly, now shut your fucking face! So he's out cold now, problem solved right? But oh no, now the bitch decides to confront me! Bleeding like a pig, she-"

"Wait, how the hell do you know all these Earth animals?"

He threw his hands up in anger. "Can I tell my fucking story here?"

"Just humor me huh?"

He blew out a long breath, making his mandibles flutter on his face. "Know your enemy's been a motto of mine. Some human named Shih Tzu said that right?"

"Sun Tzu."

"What the fuck ever, does it really matter? Alright, she's yelling at me, talking about 'diplomatic ramifications' or something, I wasn't really listening. Then Pallin stomps in, looking ready to bust my fringe. Garrus and I both decided, at that moment, to fuck off and hope for a better tomorrow. And so we did, slipping into the crowd and walking out like nothing happened. And that, was the time I punched Khalisah in the face," he finished anticlimactically.

"But what happened to the salarian diplomat?" I asked.

Jaran's eyes widened, probably thinking of that question himself. "Shit, I can never remember that part. Garrus?"

Garrus let all the smug show in his face. Which wasn't much that you could see. "We left him chained to the radiator in the hall closet. No one found him for a few days if I remember right."

"That's it! Tried to eat his own clothes too. Adaptive little guy, I'll give him that."

I stretched my legs. "Not bad. All in all, I'd give it an eight out of ten."

"Eight out of ten?" Jaran said. "You're a harsh critic, you know that?"

"What? The story's obviously bullshit, there's no way you two could've gotten away with that without being put on death row. At the bare minimum. I mean really, locking up a diplomat? Not to mention the shit you did with the matriarch either. . . ."

"I don't see you coming up with better stories Quinn," Garrus said.

"Hey, I'm just a negative dude when it comes to stories is all. Too critical of everything."

"Well, why don't you tell us a good story then?" he said. "If you think you're such a master of story-telling."

"I didn't say-"

"Yeah, enlighten us lesser beings with your gift," said Garrus, the asshole.

"But I don't have any stories really," I said a little sheepishly. Which made me feel like a loser but I wasn't a good-story teller anyway. I usually go off on these long tangents and never end up finishing.

"What, has your life been some dreary fucking existence?"

"No!"

"Then tell us something!"

"You know what, fine, fuck you!" Wait… damnit. He tricked me. I think Jaran knew that too, seeing as he flashed a toothy grin my way. Cocky asshole.

I started drumming my fingers on my thigh. What stories could I tell them? I can't mention the fact that most happened in a different fucking universe. That might be just a tad awkward to explain. Plus my life has largely been mundane at best. Although. . . . "How 'bout the time a friend spiked my drink with LSD?"

"I wait with baited breath," Jaran said sardonically, cocking his gun for no apparent reason.

I cracked my knuckles. Time to exaggerate. "Okay. It was a dark and stormy night when-"

A biting alarm emitting out of all of our omni-tools cut me off. I didn't have to look down to see what it meant.

The perimeter had just been breached.

My stomach clenched. For all my bravado, I was still nervous about this. It was real shit, not a cable drama. I may have been off on the sidelines, in the shadows even but… fuck, this is a dangerous situation. If I can just manage not to screw anything up, then I'll be golden… relatively.

Jaran and I simultaneously grabbed our magnifying devices and emerged over the lip, with Garrus monitoring the feeds from the devices on his tool. I scanned the horizon and found the perpetrator almost immediately.

Three skycars were approaching from the east, flying in a V-shaped pattern, I shit you not. Yeah, that's totally not suspicious at all. Someone should give the guy who thought of that a raise. They were cruising silently and even an idiot could exhume a rather ominous vibe from them. They'll be here any second.

"They're early," I said. Were they planning on setting up an ambush? If they were, I would do my best to give them all honorary Darwin awards for their troubles.

"Your keen Investigator skills are an inspiration to our children," Jaran replied.

"You know Jaran, I would tell you to go fuck yourself but that's legally considered cruel and unusual punishment."

He snorted, shaking the sniper rifle. "Not bad. Might have to use that sometime."

The cars reached their destination and touched down with smooth ease, near the right edge of the platform, almost right against the maze of crates. The doors on them all opened, nearly at the same time, and out stepped about ten gangsters. I managed to glimpse a considerable amount of white boxes in the back of one skycar before they closed it. That must be the tribute.

"They're all wearing helmets; I can't get an ID on Amok," Jaran said, quickly shifting between the people. They were all wearing black armor with matching helmets, a rifle or submachine gun tucked under their arms. Only the few turians were the ones visibly different, all the others looked roughly the same.

Shit can never be easy can it?

"Audio's loud and clear," said Garrus, apparently not daunted by this. "Now for them to actually say something."

One of the men, a batarian based on the dimensions of the helmet, pointed at another drug runner, what appeared to be a salarian. "Set it up," he said, in a distinctly deep voice. Yep, definitely batarian.

The salarian nodded and started typing on his omni-tool. The batarian turned and gestured to two other men, another batarian and a human. "Check our backs; make sure we don't have any guests." The pair nodded their silent understanding and made off into the maze of crates behind.

They got here early to check for a double cross? That's… actually kinda smart on their end. At least they're taking this thing seriously; Eclipse would screw them over faster than a crack addict scrambling for his next rock otherwise. Which wouldn't be a great tragedy but Amok's on the alive side of dead or alive at the moment.

"All systems are operational," Garrus said, with just a hint of pride.

The salarian visibly finished his task. He jabbed down on a single button on his tool.

And all our equipment died in one magnificent symphony of failure.

The audio log feed from Garrus' tool was loudly replaced by static, which he quickly cut off. "Damnit, they've got a jammer!"

I checked the equipment on my end with more than a little haste. And my heart sank. Everything, literally all of our equipment was dead or emitting harsh static feedback. What the fuck?! "Goddamnit, can you fix this Garrus?"

He started typing on his tool, his talons moving at a surprisingly coordinated pace. "Probably. . . ."

"Don't give me probably, fix it fucking now!"

"Come on Garrus, you're the tech nerd!" said Jaran. "Fix this shit!"

He was silent for a moment as he worked, his mandibles hard pressed to his face. My heart started pounding. We should've prepared for this! Now we won't be able to get any evidence on Amok or Nehlon! But Garrus, he could do this. He was Space Batman. He had to pull through. Fuck, he better pull through.

"I can't!" he said finally, his talons piercing down with increasing anger. "It's a complete blanket coverage. All radios and listening devices in the area are dead while their jammer's up. And this C-Sec tech can't stand up to it." He shook his head. "Pallin couldn't have waited until later to cut the damn budget. . . ."

"Wait, all radios?" I said. "Meaning their own too?"

"No, they wouldn't fuck themselves over like that," Jaran said. He had ducked down a bit but was still watching them with the barrel of the rifle hanging over the edge. "They probably left a few channels open to communicate. Just find one of those and we'll be set."

"That might've been a good plan if there weren't thousands of possible channels for them to use," Garrus said. "I could spend all night testing them and still not have checked even a fraction."

"Well fuck, we have to do something!" I was watching the men down there intently through the binoculars but they weren't moving, thankfully. "Those might not even be Nehlon's men for all we know."

"And I guarantee our word won't count for shit to Pallin," Jaran said with a bitter undertone. "We might be able to nail Eclipse, they're blacklisted on the Citadel, but not Nehlon's men."

"Damnit!" Garrus closed out his tool and leaned over the railing. His face was hard, his mandibles tight, and I could almost see the gears turning underneath his plates.

"Got anything?" I asked. I might've tried coming up with something but Garrus was the tactician of our partnership. That and the fact that it wasn't my jurisdiction. I was just the guy that got shit on by life at every opportunity. And I'm not that smart to begin with, at least from my viewpoint.

Judging by the angle, Garrus seemed to be watching the salarian. "If we could set up a decoy, lure that salarian away from the group. . . ."

"That's not a good idea," said Jaran. "They look ready to shit themselves if a pin dropped. Spook one and you'll spook 'em all." He was right; they were all standing with stiff body language around their cars. A few were glancing around too, though not in our direction. They were like a herd of gazelle watching for the illusive lion. Or some other crappy simile.

"Besides, it's not like they'd send him to check the disturbance either," I said. "That's just wishful thinking."

"And they'd notice his absence. . . ." Garrus said. He gripped the lip with more noticeable tension and a low hum rumbling out of him was just on the cusp of audibility.

"Um, could we try to search for the channels?" I asked tentatively. "Hope to get lucky?"

"We could," Garrus admitted, "but it's too unlikely that we'd find it. We need a better plan than that."

"I could pop one," said Jaran, dragging his gun back down below the lip. "Might get lucky and hit Amok, if he's down there."

"Look, I hate Amok but there is such a thing as due process of law," I said. "Not to mention that they'd all come down on us after you fired."

"It was a joke Quinn, calm down."

The human who'd been sent to scout the area appeared, hauling his armored ass on top of a crate. Garrus instantly snapped his attention to him. The guy peered down on the ground from his vantage point, casually pointing an Avenger with it. After a few seconds of this, the guy jumped down, disappearing in the maze of future containers. The other batarian wasn't in sight.

"I have an idea," Garrus said, after a few moments. He turned his head to me. "But I don't think you're going to like it."

"Garrus, if it can get us the evidence, I'm all for it." That was felt more truthful coming out than I had planned. I really would try anything to get this channel back up. Within reason, of course.

He nodded. "Good." I expected him to crack a trademark grin but he kept his face solemn. That was a bad sign. "Follow me."

We started heading towards the way down to the area below and, despite my words, I felt a little worry that I really wasn't going to like what Garrus had planned here…

**A/N: Obligatory: www. youtube watch?v=LI4WbG4JHOg (Warning: This song is guaranteed to make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So pessimists and Debby Downers need not watch it.)**

**Also, big reveal here; Shepard is in fact gonna be a dude. Sorry Femshep fans, I've gotten so tired of seeing her in almost every other goddamn SI out there. I'm not saying I don't like her, I actually think we need more strong female roles in fiction, but it's just become too much for me. Broshep needs more love, he really does. And then there's everyone romancing Tali. Jesus Christ. She is a horse no one can fucking stop beating. I mean, I like her, but damn, EVERYONE is trying to fuck her! It's way beyond cliché at this point.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter! See you all next time!**


	13. Between Scylla and Charybdis

Chapter Thirteen:

Between Scylla and Charybdis

"Into the fire from the frying pan

Tripping on his tongue

For a cool place to stand

Where's this shade

That you've got it made?

To me it's just monkey business."

_Monkey Business, Skid Row_

**20:85, GST**

"This is a stupid fucking idea Garrus!"

He glanced back to me, expression serious. "You say that about all my plans."

"Because they've all been fucking stupid so far!" I may have been overreacting. Actually no, I was definitely not overreacting. This was a stupid plan, through and through.

The human was standing next to the edge of the docks, gazing out to the five other Wards extended out in front of him. He had taken off his helmet, which was resting by his ankle, and was calmly smoking a cigarette, the gray smoke forming a vapid haze around his head. Apparently, he'd given up the search for possible hostiles to feed his addiction. A model grunt, if there ever was one.

Garrus and I were kneeling down behind a giant metal crate, each of our heads poking out to watch the human. It had been simple work making our way down from the building we were on and creeping our way over to him. Sticking to the shadows, stepping lightly and we were there in no time. Jaran had stayed up on the roof to warn us when Eclipse were going to be arriving, though how he exactly he would do that was left up in the air. Like a lot of things seemed to be nowadays.

"Would you just trust me for once?" he said. "It's not that bad of a plan."

"Yes it fucking is!" I said with the harshest whisper I could manage. "It's like Gallipoli, Stalingrad and Little Bighorn mixed into a soup of tactical retardation!"

While I knew he hadn't gotten the references, he understood the message. "Do you have a better plan?"

"No but that doesn't mean _this_ is a sound one! Christ, why don't you just send me out there with a 'Shoot Here' shirt on?"

Garrus' plan was fairly simple; take out that human and retrieve the codes for the channel from his earpiece. We could listen in on their conversations through the device and get our evidence of their involvement. But, that left the human incapacitated and the others out there would notice his absence eventually. How would he counteract this you ask? By having me don the dude's armor and walking back out there like a sheep in wolf's clothing.

No, I'm serious; that was his fucking plan. Become an honorary drug runner for thirty minutes, walk out there in an assumed identity and then… well, he hadn't told me that part yet.

Yeah, you could understand my reluctance here.

"You'll be fine," he said, in almost sincere honesty. "Just stay in the corner and keep your mouth shut."

"And what if one of them talks to me? Or how the hell am I supposed to sneak away from them afterwards? Have you even put any thought into this?!"

He broke eye-contact to watch the human again. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

I stared at the back of his head for a few moments, grinding my teeth in frustration. "Garrus, no."

He swiveled back around. "No?"

I kept my face hard. "Yeah, no. I'm not doing this shit, it's fucking stupid and I don't want to die."

He sighed with just his eyes. "Look Quinn, you'll be fin-"

"Don't patronize me!" I said, getting in close to him. He stiffened slightly, almost as an ingrained instinct and I backed off a hint of a fraction. "It's suicidal and you know it. Don't try to pretend it's a goddamn cake walk, it's insulting."

He watched me for a bit, his predatory eyes roaming my face. I could imagine his visor telling him all my vitals in real time. "We don't have an option here. If it was a turian right there, I would do it without question. So would Jaran."

"Yeah, that's real nice Garrus," I spat back. "It's still me going out there, it's still me risking my ass and it's still me who's gonna be six feet under if this goes bad. This is just a job; I don't want to die for it like you seem to want to."

Even for someone as inexperienced at reading humans as he was (trust me, he was bad), he still should've seen I wasn't going to budge. But I guess I'm always wrong. "I didn't realize you were this selfish."

"_What the fuck did you just say to me_?" This time, I got in close and stayed there, our faces mere inches apart. I saw red; out of all the things to say to me right now, this was not on the top ten.

He stood his ground. "Earlier, you made it clear that you were willing to do anything to take down Amok, that that was what you wanted to most of all. And how did you prove that? By questioning my plan to get information on him. And now you're standing in the way of taking him down. Again."

I clenched my fists; sheer willpower was the only thing keeping me from going absolutely ape shit on him.

"You keep saying you want to help. Yet every time you've been given the opportunity, I've had to convince you to do something. How do you think Anturo and Leia would feel if you told them you let Amok get away just because you 'didn't want to get hurt'? Do you think they'd understand?" He leaned into me, our faces almost touching. "At least I'm not afraid to actually follow through on what I say."

With that, he returned to watching the human around the corner, winking me out of existence. Red hot searing fury boiled in my stomach and the only thing stopping me from trying to kick the shit out of Garrus was the hardened criminals around me. And even then I was just on the limit of myself.

I forced myself to laugh. "You know what Garrus? You wanna know what? You're fucking right." He turned to stare at me again, clearly surprised. "I'm not a hero. I'm selfish. I'm a hypocrite. I'm whatever other bad trait you want me to be. I really don't deserve to be partnered up with you either, since you're clearly such a fucking gift to the universe. But you know what else?" I took a step back, smiling insincerely. "I'm out. I'm done with this shit."

His face was unreadable. "So you're just going to walk away?"

"Yup! Have fun with your shitty plans!" I did a patronizing handwave, pivoted around and started pacing away, back down the corridor we had just come from. I made it a point not to look back.

To his credit, Garrus didn't say anything. Which was good, considering anything else out of his mouth right now would be irreparably damaging. Nor did he try to physically stop me. But I could feel his alien eyes on the back of my head all the way, judging me, probably mocking me, until I turned the corner. The reprieve from it was like ice to a burn.

The maze of corridors was relatively easy to maneuver through, considering I'd memorized the path we'd taken on the way here. Being a city rat (twas the benefit of living in a city right on the edge of the coast), I was fairly decent at memorizing routes. But I was still trying my best to be cautious and inconspicuous; I was still in the thick of things.

But this is very hard to do when you're stark fucking mad. I started biting my nails, something I always did when stressed or needed an outlet. A habit I apparently hadn't kicked. But, in my rush of self-mutilation, I bit too hard, tearing down to the cuticle. I swore, shook my finger in pain, and continued nibbling on it.

Fucking Garrus. Goddamn, motherfucking Garrus. Who the hell does he think he is, expecting me to do all this crazy shit?! Let's leave this bleeding salarian to die in a shitty neighborhood without offering any help! Let's seduce women in a seedy nightclub to break into a drug kingpin's office! Let's have you dress up as a criminal and attend a deal with an infamous merc force! Well sure Garrus, I can't make rational decisions on my own, I'll just do what you say! God, fuck him; I don't need this.

_He does have a point, you know._

No he fucking doesn't! He's telling me to dress up as a criminal and attend a meeting with Eclipse! I'm acting very fucking reasonably in this situation!

_Really? And what makes you say that?_

I-I don't want to fucking die! This job isn't worth that! Neither is Gatsby! Fuck them, I want to have grandchildren first, not become some statistic!

_I'm sure Jilla didn't want to die either._

What . . . I . . . what?

_Do you think she wanted to die? To be shot in the head and left like a sack of meat in some destitute alley? Was that her goal in life? Really, is that anyone's goal in life?_

I. . . .

I stopped and leaned against a crate, suddenly feeling an icy chill stab through me. A comeback wouldn't come, a rare moment for me.

_She had dreams, just like everyone else does. Now they won't ever be fulfilled; she's rotting unrealized, because that man out there decided she wasn't worth leaving alone. That she didn't deserve to live._

No really? That was kinda the point about my anger with Amok, in case you hadn't noticed there bucko.

_Alright smartass but what about Leia and Anturo? Do you think they want to see their daughter's killer get away because you didn't have the balls to go out there?_

Hey, fuck you! This isn't about cajones; this is about knowing when a plan is fucking idiotic! Bravery and stupidity is a very goddamn fine line!

_Can it be done?_

What kind of question is that?!

_Is it physically possible for you to go out there and imitate being a drug runner? Could you pull it off?_

I . . . yeah, yeah it is possible, I guess. But that doesn't mean it's likely. Hell, it's possible I could win the lottery tomorrow but is that gonna happen? So, theoretically, yes it could work, but-

_But nothing! Get out there! Take that son of a bitch down! You wanted to fuck him in the ass right? Well he's out there right now, all lubed up and ready to go!_

I-I can't! It's not going to work!

_Bull-fucking-shit you can't! That's what you've been telling yourself your whole time here!_

No, no it hasn't!

_WOULD YOU TAKE A FUCKING LOOK AT YOURSELF? That's what you've said in every goddamn situation! What did you say when that asari was being mugged? I can't do anything! What did you say to Gatsby when he wanted to know why you wouldn't join C-Sec? I can't do it, I'm not a hero! The only times you've actually done shit is when Garrus had to fucking tell you to!_

This is different.

_No, it's not. It's not different at all; you just won't admit it to yourself. You keep saying you're willing to do what's necessary, but when the chips are down, when your balls are in the guillotine? You bitch out. You whine and try to pass yourself off as some down on your luck victim when you've had every opportunity to change things. You're a hypocrite; you're a goddamn hypocrite and you won't even acknowledge it._

But. . . .

Images swam in front of my eyes. The asari getting mugged, fondled, and shot like a dog. The salarian, minding his own business and being torn down by uncaring bullets. Me, adamantly denying Gatsby.

_You think you're the hero of your story fuckhead? You're not; you're the whiny anti-hero that not even anime geeks will like. Holden Caulfield himself would call you a phony. Hell, I'm you and I'm calling you a pussy. That's how meta this shit is._

I saw Leia sobbing, the crushing pain in her soul laid out to see. There was Anturo, disfigured, drinking his life away because he thought he failed as a parent.

_They deserve solace don't they? Who are you to deny them that, that relief they've been coveting for too damn long? Are you really going to tell them no?_

Jilla's face, twisted in fear and desperation, the bullet ripping whatever she once was to shreds.

_Who's going to help her if you won't? Who's going to make her spilt blood right?_

I saw Amok's profile picture but this time he was laughing, arrogance stretched in wide strokes across his alien face.

_He's out there right now. He thinks he's gotten away with it, that his actions won't have consequences. Are you going to prove him wrong? Are you going to show him just what happens when he thinks he can tear people's lives apart?_

I clutched my head in both hands, my breaths poorly controlled. I gripped my skull, squeezed it for all it was worth it. The pain felt right; it was cleansing, driving away the denial.

_Well? Got an answer dickbreath?_

Why does this shit have to happen to me?

_Would you stop whining about this? You're like a goddamn broken clock. "Everyone I've ever known is dead!" "My life's constantly in danger!" "I just want to go home!" Christ, join a fucking cult if you want to bitch about it so much…_

My subconscious is an asshole.

_Probably 'cause I'm based off your personality dumbass. Look, we can argue about your many character flaws later. __Are you going to do this? Time's a wastin'._

Do I have a choice?

_Of course you do; you always have. Doesn't mean you've always chosen the right one but you have. Just walk away right now, if you want to prove that you're not a hero. Go ahead; do it._

I stared down the pathway which I knew lead out of here. It was right there. I could leave, walk away from this whole situation and then I'd . . . I'd do nothing. I'd go back to brooding, probably go back to Earth, get some shitty nine to five job, and then die with no pride or lasting achievements, an unfulfilled man. I'd just be another drop of water in the endless sea of names in the annals of history. I would become nothingness.

I glanced in the other direction, back to where Garrus was. Going back there would make me risk my life in an absurdly Hollywood fashion for something that, in all likelihood, was doomed to fail from the beginning. And then, even if I did survive, I'd more than likely have to risk my wellbeing daily for a job I'm not even entirely devoted to, for a cause I took up to feel better about myself. I'd be helping, sure, but it wouldn't be me doing it; it'd be my sense of duty, not my true self. I'd be living a lie that might consume me whole.

Both options are just so enticing.

_What would you rather die as, the hero or the coward?_

I'd rather not die, thank you.

_Fine then. Go. Get the fuck out of here. Prove Garrus right. Prove yourself right._

A chorus of laughter, far away yet audible, reached my little mental battleground. It was a batarian laugh, low, rambling, ugly. It sounded like pure arrogance. And that's when I remembered that, right out there, there was a very special someone who really didn't deserve to be happy right now.

I . . . I don't want to.

_You don't huh? Does that mean you'll…?_

. . . yes. I'll do it. I'll go out there. It's the right thing to do.

_Really? I don't believe you._

I'm going to get the evidence on him. And I'm going to drive him down into the fucking dirt.

_You sure? 'Cause I'm smelling a lot of recycled bullshit over here._

I . . . you're right. I'm going to change things.

_Words are meaningless bro; prove it._

"I'll do it," I said aloud, to absolutely no one but myself.

_Hey, great job there dumbass; now you're talking to yourself. Fantastic. Great way to prove you won't just complain anymore._

"How's this for proof?" I, feeling something primal kick in inside me, started walking back in the direction I had just come from.

_Atta boy! My little pretentious hero, all grown up. Just be careful out there; I do live up here, you know._

I clenched my fists. Anger is a fuel; it's the gasoline that was driving me now. Rage isn't just an anesthetic; it's also a mind wipe, a single, unabated driving force. When consumed in its throes, it conquers all.

_God, don't start with your shitty metaphors again. The Geneva Convention was very clear on what constitutes torture._

Despite the near savage feeling coursing through me, I was still overwhelmed with the feeling of "Holy shit bro, what the hell are you doing?!" It tried to weigh me down but I kept going. Do this for them, do this for them. Absolution won't come about with me being a coward. Maybe this time, I'll step up and do some good of my own. Hopefully. Ideally. Some other form of wishful thinking.

After some not so shameless backtracking, I returned to the spot I had had my little fit at. Garrus was still there, in the exact same position. Feeling embarrassment heat up my cheeks, I returned to my dutiful position behind him, back to the wall, pointedly staring at the opposite crate in front of me.

He swiveled his head back around and just… stared at me. No surprise, no admonishment, no happy slap on the back. Just neutral gazing. It was somehow worse than any reprimand he could've given me. I would've taken lashing at the moment.

The silence was insufferable.

"Yeah, I'm back," I said. "But that doesn't mean I suddenly think this is a good plan. It's still idiotic, doomed to fail, and probably going to end up being parodied on every crappy comedy show for all time."

The silence thickened. I swallowed something large and nonexistent.

"But, well, I . . . uh, I think I should try it at least. It's not like we have anything better right? Desperate times call for desperate measures. And this is does qualify as desperate, I'd say."

The silence was now actively trying to smother me.

"I also . . . I also think I should help. Them, I mean. Leia, Anturo . . . you know, those people. Not that, uh, other people wouldn't deserve, you know, help but I, er, well I just . . . kinda thought that . . . with how Jilla did the . . . a-and Anturo was . . . it-it needs to be righted you know? So, I . . . I'm gonna . . . gonna . . . _would you stop staring at me?_"

A snort made me finally make eye contact with him. He was smiling very minutely, something I could only pick up from having been around him for so long. "My dad always told me humans were unpredictable." My face was achieving maximum blush yield. "Good to see my plan worked then."

"Alright, alright, whatever. Let's just . . . wait, what?"

He nodded. "That was what my drill instructor taught me. Get someone mad, give them a target and they'll fight your battles for you. Wasn't sure how it would work on a human but I guess some things translate universally."

He manipulated me. The devious bastard. "Garrus, after this, we're gonna have a serious talk about psychological manipulation in the work place."

The faint smile widened a fraction. "I'm sure we will. But for now, if you're going to help," he leaned his head out to examine the human again and pulled it in after a second, "then you're going to have to take him down right now."

I furrowed my brow, my lips setting in a firm line. He got the message. "I can't exactly sneak in armor can I? Besides, I showed you the right holds for this; you can do it." I continued staring at him. "Well, maybe not as well as I could."

Something ugly echoed out of my throat. "I don't get paid enough for this shit." I leaned my own head out. The human was still enjoying his cigarette and watching the horizon. For a second, my anger was replaced by trepidation, but then it came roaring back like a tidal wave. Time to do this shit. "I'll be back."

"Good luck," he whispered as I slipped past him.

Everyone who has ever snuck behind anyone in a quiet place will be able to tell you what I was experiencing as I approached this man. Every sound I made seemed to be amplified as I slowly walked forward, knees bent. Every breath was as loud as a pant, every crack of my knee a branch breaking, and each step I took made me feel like I was wearing tap shoes. I pulled out my gun softly, aiming at him with one arm in case he turned around.

I couldn't bash him in the head or anything. How close he was standing to the edge, he'd definitely fall off. And killing a man cold blooded like that was bad, worse even than killing someone in general. So I'm going to have to choke him out, while at the same time pulling him back from the edge and not falling in myself.

Simple in theory.

Garrus had showed me a strong hold in our sparring (much to the chagrin of my windpipe), one designed for knocking out your victims. If I got a good hold on his neck, he could be out in ten seconds from lack of blood flow, maybe more. But ten seconds seemed like much too long to try holding a drug runner.

_Oh and by the way, you might want to see a shrink or something; I'm fairly sure most people don't have voices in their heads. Though I could be wrong about that._

What are you, anyway? My subconscious? A higher power?

_Does it really matter? Aren't I just some contrived plot device to get you off your ass and actually doing something?_

. . . what?

_Nothing, never mind, it's not important. Just, you know, don't get killed, see a therapist, get paid, fuck some bitches, die happy. Agreed?_

Sure, whatever you say.

He turned his head and spat off to his side. I stopped, thinking he'd seen me, but he turned his head back. I stretched out my arms in preparation, holstering my gun. I stopped about six inches behind him, close enough for me to hear him breathe. I stood up cautiously, trying to mentally prepare myself.

Without warning, he moved. In all fairness, he probably was just cracking his neck, not turning around. But the result was just the same. I panicked and grabbed out for him, arm locking around his neck. In my rush, I missed the proper arm positioning, the crook of my elbow going too far past his jugular. I pulled back hard while shifting all weight into falling backwards.

This guy was strong as fuck. He stood his ground with my full weight tugging him down. He let out a strangled noise and grabbed for my forearm. After a few seconds of this fruitless endeavor, he brought his right elbow down fast, smashing me right in the side. My grip weakened as I doubled up, just enough for him to bring his head forward and smash it back.

He hit the bridge of my nose and I stumbled back, tears forming in my eyes. I looked up just in time to see an armored fist barreling towards me. I barely ducked under it, feeling the edge of the hand whish past my cheek, half falling backwards in a haste.

"You want some fucker, let's do this!" He tried for a wide haymaker. Training kicked in and I blocked it, retaliating a swift uppercut into his jaw. I started stepping back, trying to lure him away from the edge. He shook his head and charged at me. I sidestepped it but he clotheslined me, smashing his arm into my stomach on the way past. He got back into a fighting position just as I managed to straighten up. A classic circling began, just like in the movies.

I needed a quick takedown, something to silence him before he called for backup. And I knew how to do that. I feinted a punch to the right. He took the bait and brought up an arm to block. I, however, launched my knee up square into his groin. And felt it explode with pain.

Armor fucking hurts!

His eyes widened and he groaned, but didn't fall over. He, instead, got pissed and bashed me in the mouth with a straight jab. He came in again with a wide lash; I didn't get my arm up in time and his fist, while weakened a bit with my block, still pounded my head. I tried to back up more but he came in and socked me in the ribs, hard enough to make me lose my breath.

Fuck this! I grabbed for my gun, found it, and had just gotten it halfway up when he batted it out of my hands. It flew out of sight, clattering and skidding on the ground. Now really starting to panic, I ducked under another blow from him, arched my back and head-butted the fucker right on the bridge of his nose.

Yeah, don't ever do that. Hurts really goddamn bad.

But it had the desired effect. He grunted, grabbing the bridge of his nose as he fell back towards the ledge. Seeing my golden opportunity, I dashed forward. Winding up my arm as far as I could, not even remotely thinking about the consequences, I unleashed the widest haymaker I could manage. My fist connected perfectly with his cheek, spewing saliva in a rainbow of enzymes. I actually felt him go unconscious with the blow, like a little click. He fell back, out like a light.

Right towards the edge.

FUCK!

I grabbed wildly for his arm and found it. Unfortunately, hitting someone in the face that hard really screws up your hand and I couldn't get a good grip in time. His arm slipped through my grasp. His waist hit the lip of the edge and the top half of his body started falling into the abyss. Nearly crapping out my heart at this point, I dove forward and latched a hand around one of his flailing ankles.

I tried to get a decent stance for support but the sheer weight of this man pulled me forward like a doll, making me lose all pretense of balance. I leaned backwards with all my might and promptly fell on my ass. But the human deadweight was pulling me down with him. I kicked my feet on the ground, trying with all my energy to find any sort of stance. The smooth metal prevented me from developing a solid foundation.

The guy's waist disappeared below the edge, his legs the only thing visible. My feet ran out of artificial ground and with it went most of my resistance. My ass was almost at the lip and making good progress to it. I could almost feel the abyss.

SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT SHITSHI-

There was a rush of footsteps behind me and, just as my ass reached the cusp of the edge of no return, a pair of arms wrapped around my chest. "Hold on!" Garrus groaned, pulling my bruised body backwards with all his strength.

For a cruel moment, I kept going and actually felt myself become suspended over air. My heart stopped in my chest. But then Garrus found a new burst of strength and tugged harder, pulling me back from the event horizon. I slowly returned from certain death and, once I could get a decent stance with my feet, started pulling my prize with desperate ability. The human's body came back unceremoniously, splaying itself on the floor with a low thump.

Garrus released his grip on me and I toppled down to the ground, dropping the man's leg. Every hair was electrified, every endorphin flowing and my heart was voicing its displeasure on the walls of my chest. I could actually feel the blood flowing in my veins.

Jesus fuck, that was way too close for comfort.

"Are you alright?" Garrus asked, staring down at me. Thank God for him. I'd have kissed him right there.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "I think I just shit my pants."

He chuckled, extending out a hand that I weakly took. "Good thing you won't be wearing them for long then."

I got to my feet and barely managed to stay up right. I saw the human laying on the ground, out cold, a thin stream of blood oozing out of his mouth. And despite myself, I got angrier at this man for unconsciously risking my life. "You piece of shi-" I ran forward and kicked the man, only to have pain shoot up my toes upon contact. "Gah fucking armor! Fucking… fuck, motherfucker fucking fuck! _Fuck_!"

"Maybe I should do the physical stuff from now on. . . ." Garrus said as I danced with my roaring foot in hand, releasing expletives like they were going out of style.

"Why the fuck does armor have to be so fucking hard?!" I let my raging foot down and held up a hand. "Don't answer that."

"If you're done. . . ." he said, kneeling over the body. He started unhooking parts of the armor off the man. "We need to hurry; they'll notice his absence."

I ran a hand through my hair. Step one of this doomed to fail plan done. "Right."

**20:95, GST**

"Am I good? Everything's in place?"

Garrus studied me for a few seconds before responding. "I think so. Though the armor's a bit loose on you."

"I guess we'll just have to deal with that," I muttered. The armor, in fact, was fairly loose on me. Though that helped me slip it on with relative ease, it also meant it jostled a fair amount if I moved too quickly. Which probably won't be a problem, considering this whole ensemble weighed a very liberal amount, bogging me down and making every movement more lethargic. I had no idea how people managed to sprint while wearing these things; I'd cough up a lung after the first few yards. "Just make sure you record everything."

"Oh, I don't know, I thought I'd go grab a drink instead. Really get to try out Tartarus' rooms." He started to grin at his own little joke, like he usually did, but I remained impassive, looking over the Avenger in my hands. I don't think I could've laughed if I had wanted to. He sighed. "Look Quinn, I'm sorry about putting you in these situations. If it didn't call for it, I'd-"

"Whatever Garrus." I rolled my shoulders. The armor restricted a good portion of my mobility, making it harder to move my arms. "I don't blame you really."

He seemed taken back by that. "You don't?"

"Not really; I know the situation calls for it." I did, in fact, not blame him. He didn't have a choice, though that didn't alleviate a lot of my concerns. I was still massively pissed at the whole situation. "Just, you know, never, _ever_, again. Got it?"

His mandibles parted slightly. "That's reasonable." He opened a nearby crate briefly to check on the now naked human who was bunking with my clothes. Being unconscious this long, he definitely had brain damage; something else for me to feel guilty about. "I promise though, once this is over, first round's on me."

"Yeah, woopty fucking doo." I waved him away. "Get back to Jaran, before I lose my nerve."

He hesitated, probably considering trying to apologize again, but instead he nodded and disappeared without a sound down a makeshift hallway. Can't sneak in armor my ass. Feeling more isolated than I had ever considered humanly possible, I positioned the rifle in a moderately comfortable spot along my chest and began my trek out to the open area.

In truth, I couldn't really tell you how I made it through the menagerie of crates. I was barely aware of what I was doing. My legs were weak and wobbly, almost to the point of giving out. The boots I was wearing seemed to be filled with lead and lifting them took all my strength. My stomach clenched and contracted and I was fairly sure my heart was now adamantly trying to commit suicide by over exhaustion. I almost felt like I was watching everything unfold before me, rather than living it. Like a movie of my life for my enjoyment.

_This is probably what walking to your own execution feels like. Not that I would know, mind you._

Are you gonna be sticking around much? 'Cause I really don't want to become a basket case. I'm already right on the verge of losing my mind as it is.

_Redrum . . . redrum . . . redrum. . . ._

Yeah, that's not funny asshole.

_Whatever dude, just worry about yourself; I'll keep quiet and watch you screw up again._

I passed the final checkpoint almost in a blissful unknowingness. And then I stepped outside into Golgotha, the land of skulls. The home of death incarnate.

Much against my expectations, I wasn't gunned down right away. No one shouted "Get him!", there was no immediate clicking of safeties switched off, no mad rush to beat my ass within an inch of my life. Barely anyone bashed an eyelash, or the species equivalent. They were all just standing around, minding their own business. Terrifyingly normal, if there was ever a combination like that. But one batarian, the one who had ordered the jammer up, noticed me appear.

Here it comes.

"What took you so long?" His body language, from what I could read, was pissed. Shit. The other batarian scout was already back, talking to another turian. It was probably suspicious why it took me so long to come back.

I shrugged, not wanting to risk saying anything.

His body didn't move, but I could tell he had scowled at me. I felt it through the helmet. "Did you find anything?" I shook my head. "Then get back to your spot and be ready, human." I nodded and tried making my way to the back car. Weaving through the gangsters was incredibly nerve-racking. I was deathly afraid to touch any of them, lest they got pissed off. But I didn't want it to seem like I was afraid of them. So I compromised with a slow but deliberate ballerina like twist and turn though the gangsters.

One of the turians nodded to me. "Steve." I replied to his greeting with an incoherent mumble and a half-assed hand wave. He tilted his head in confusion and I not so subtly increased my pace. Fuckfuckfuck. "Alright then. . . ."

I found and leaned against the door of the car, trying as consciously as I could to appear casual. I sat the Avenger down on the car and crossed my arms. I looked around, examining the batarians. They were wearing helmets, completely sealing off their faces. Amok could be anyone of them considering I knew next to nothing about him.

I glanced down into the car I was resting against. And saw a metric fuckton (which is approximately three shitloads, if we're being specific) of red sand boxes in the back. Must be the tribute. One of the boxes was open and I could see the drug, as smooth as an alien Sahara. If I had been so inclined, I would've been damn tempted to take it and bail. But that would've been colossally stupid on so many levels.

Something flashed through the visor in my helmet. I dismissed it as a passing ship but then it appeared again. And again. And then again. By the fifth time, I recognized it for what it was. A red laser. Coming from… yep, coming from our little perch up high. I nodded slightly and the laser disappeared. At least I have a guardian angel dinosaur watching my back. Though I don't know how much use that'll be…

Although, Garrus had mentioned we could use their radios in an emergency. He could tell me to bail if he noticed anything on his end. Which, in all honesty, would probably just tell me when I'm going to be shot, not how I could avoid it.

A group of turian and batarians were talking by the car in front of me. Might as well listen in, see if I can glean anything useful…

"So I was fucking this bitch right?"

Well alrighty then.

The turian procreator in question was making some… lewd gestures with his hands and waist while addressing his audience. "She was taking it all like a fucking champ, lemme tell you. Hair flying everywhere, panting like a varren in heat. Got it all the way inside her too, through some miracle."

"All four inches?" one of the batarians (who apparently hadn't graduated high school yet) asked.

The turian took it all in stride and laughed. "Hey I'm being serious here! Humans are the best fucks around!" Damn right we are. "They're just so . . . fucking . . . tight! You all need to try it sometime, it'll blow your mind."

Another batarian glanced my way. "Hey, I'm not sticking my cock anywhere near those primates. That's disgusting."

The turian slugged him in the shoulder. "You'd be surprised. And don't act like you're much better asshole, I know you fucked that vorcha a few months back."

The batarian growled as a few of the men started to laugh at his expense. "And I told you, I'm never drinking with you again. Ever."

"Wait, wait, I have a question!" said a different turian. "I heard that human girls have this . . . dot, on their snatch. Is that true?"

The first turian nodded. "Oh yeah, they do. They fucking _love_ when you rub it. Funny story actually, before I turned her bowlegged, we were doing some foreplay. And I knew this other human, Frank, who told me about it beforehand. 'Cept he said it was in her _ass_."

All eyes turned to the turian.

The guy laughed. "I know right? So I think, what the fuck, might as well huh? I got ready and jammed a finger right in her backdoor and-"

"I'm sure that ended well," a batarian said flatly.

"Actually, she seemed to enjoy it. Though she was a little, uh, confused on why I did that. To say the least. I explained and she just fucking laughed, saying that only males have it in there. She also called it a 'G-spot'. Weird."

"Wait, the _males_ have a sex button in their ass?" a batarian asked, completely dumbfounded. "Are you shitting me?"

"Dead. Fucking. Serious. A good portion of humans actually prefer assplay instead of the . . . regular hole. Male and female."

The group nodded collectively, mulling over this new revelation. Then, taking me completely off-guard, each and every one of the aliens turned to stare at me, the only human in the area.

All I could say was, thank God my bowels were empty.

"Hey Steve. . . ."

"Have you ever, uh. . . ."

"You know. . . ."

"Taken it up the. . . ."

"Your . . . you know. . . ."

"Have you ever been fucked in the ass Steve?"

In all my years of existence, I don't think, at any point, I could've conceived a more terrifying and embarrassing situation. I remained impassive, stared off into the distance and silently prayed for Eclipse to hurry up and kill me.

But they weren't giving up. "Come on, have you?"

"Have you gone up shitcreek?"

"Swam the brown river?"

"Gone through the dirty cavern?"

"Broken your gloryhole?"

"Would you all shut up?" the lead batarian hissed. The men stopped, tails between their legs. He glared at them all with reprimanding eyes . . . before snorting. "Of course he has, just look at him!"

The group broke out into boisterous laughter, a chaotic mix of alien vocal chords clashing with each other. And it was at this moment that I lamented the fact that the human body can't immolate itself at will.

"Good point boss!"

"He does have that look to him!"

"Now Steve, we're not judging you or anything…"

"Faggot."

". . . I'm sure it's a perfectly natural act for your kind. . . ."

"Pillowbiter."

". . . and we're willing to respect that about you."

"Turdburglar!"

"Guys. . . ."

"I just have to ask though. . . ."

"Uh, guys. . . ."

"Did you, by any chance. . . ."

"Hey seriously, you guys. . . ."

". . . bleed? I can't imagine that having a cock in your ass wouldn't-"

"HEY!"

Everyone stopped their heckling and turned to the protesting turian. He flicked his head away from us, almost due west. "They're here."

It was an instantaneous effect; the group all stiffened their posture and a few reached for their resting weapons. You could almost hear the low _whoosh _of everyone's rectum slamming shut. And, almost as one, we twisted our bodies to scan the horizon.

I saw them immediately, a single yellow shuttle flying low to the platform. It's mere presence seemed to radiate domination and a deadly willingness for the macabre. The deal, was on.

Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuc-

"Spread out and be careful," the batarian boss said. "These people are crazy." Immediately, everyone unfolded their guns and started scattering in random directions. I picked up the Avenger and simply looked around, unsure of where to go. What kind of order was spread out?

"Human!" I froze. The batarian, who I'm guessing was the leader, and a turian were both staring at me. Shit. "Get over here!" Trying not to visibly hesitate, I moved as smoothly as possible over to him. He nodded at me when I arrived. "You two'll stand behind me and look threatening. Don't open fire for any reason other than my say so, understand?" The turian and I nodded. "Good, let's go."

Oh of course I get volunteered to be in the center of the drug deal. I really can't expect anything less at this point.

The shuttle touched down as I followed my "boss" to the center of the area. The kill zone, basically. I was having a hard time keeping a hold of the gun; the thing was heavy as hell and the gloves of the armor wouldn't let me make a full fist. It probably didn't help I was sweating enough to cause a flash flood or that my loose helmet kept sliding around on my head. My legs were starting to cramp too; I had to walk like I had a stick up my ass because no one had taught me how to properly wear full body armor. Being a soldier sucks.

Amok (at least I think it was him) held up a hand to stop in the middle of the area just as the shuttle doors opened. Six mercenaries got out; three asari, two humans, and a salarian, all clad in standard Eclipse armor and weaponry, though they apparently hadn't felt the need to wear helmets. An asari with striking red facial tattoos took the lead, striving over to us like a dictator addressing his men. Amok held out a hand to me at his side, like he was warning me not to shoot. Well darn, I was really looking forward to massacring these people; guess I'll shoot up an orphanage later or something.

She stopped in front of Amok, and her cronies took a up a seagull V around her. One of the humans, an ugly meathead with greasy brown hair and an extra chromosome, decided it was his job to stare me down; he turned his whole body to me and shifted his Vindicator in my direction. I returned the favor, though all I could think about was how this guy would shoot me dead before I could pussy out. Good thing this outfit gave the illusion of being a badass.

"Captain Marophi?" Amok asked, finally breaking the testosterone filled silence.

"Who wants to know?" she said, folding her arms across her (rather curvy) chest.

_Oh, the stone cold asari mercenary bitch. Gee, I've never seen that before._

"Amok'Tesh," he said. So there he is; Amok, live and in the flesh. I can't wait to get acquainted.

While the human gorilla was still beating me down with his eyes, all I could think about was how much my nose itched. My hand really hurt too. And it was getting stuffy inside my helmet. Goddamnit, why am I here?

She stared at him, and, for a few moments, I was sure she would start shooting. Then she dropped her arms. "Yeah, I'm Marophi. Sorry we're late; traffic was shit."

"No worries Captain," said Amok, a little too quickly. "Mr. Tornnus would like to express his extreme gratitude for your organization's decision to—"

"Cut the asskissing—it's not necessary." She stared at him again, narrowing her eyes and twisting her tattoos with the effort. I was pretty glad I wasn't on the receiving end. "You got the tribute or not?"

"Of course!" He pivoted around and gestured to two batarians behind him. "Bring it out!" They nodded and scurried off.

While the two nameless mooks moved to bring out our Martian dust, the two leaders in this blood deal just . . . stared at each other. Awkward. Marophi seemed relaxed; her stance was casual and her shotgun (which I noticed had Warp rounds equipped) was loosely gripped. Amok, on the other hand . . . not so much. He was trying to look calm, but little fidgets and weight shifts were giving him away. Something was up with him.

_Maybe he left the oven on._

Just to give you an idea, I saw all this out of my side vision; Corporal Chromosome and I were still watching each other. Marophi noticed the hostility and glanced over to her human.

"Making friends, Adrian?" she asked, finally showing a sliver of emotion.

He reaffirmed his grip on his gun. "Just making sure he stays away, ma'am."

_I'll wreck your shit, mate._

Amok glanced over to me. I had an overwhelming urge to bash him over the head with my Avenger and just Rambo my out of here. I hadn't expected the prospect of violence to sound so appealing, but, well, here we are. Instead, my rational side won out and I kept my gaze on Adrian, making sure to crack my neck loud enough to hear. You'll get yours Amok, count on it.

The two batarians came rushing up past me, both struggling to carry a rather large box. They dropped it down between the two and skittered away with their heads down. Amok swept his hand out like a magician presenting a magic trick. "There you go."

Marophi bent down and opened the box. I wasn't even really looking at it, but I still saw a red aura flare up near my blind spot; must be good shit.

"This is good shit," she said. This time I did look, and saw her dip a finger into the bounty. It stuck to her gloves, and she started rubbing it between her fingers, watching it trickle back into the box. "Top quality—I'm impressed."

Amok nodded, a tad smugly. "Mr. Tornnus sends only the best."

She dabbed another finger and this time lightly licked it. "I'm guessing there's more?"

"Of course. Thirty more kilos in the car."

"Good." She stood up and smiled a viper smile. "Now maybe you can tell who you really are." She then aimed her shotgun squarely at Amok's surprised head.

The turian next to me raised his gun as well, and there was a shuffle on both sides as each man trained his respective gun on his respective target. I reacted last, clumsily aiming the Avenger at Adrian from the hip. He, meanwhile, had already fixed his iron sights right between my eyes; I could already feel the hole. Shit was about to go down.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Amok said. "Let's calm down a second here!"

"Here's your options," said Marophi, cool as a snowstorm. "You can tell us who you are, or we can fuck your boys up. Your choice."

"What're you talking about?" Amok took a step back, slowly raising his hands.

"You," she said, taking a hand off her gun to point a finger at him, "are not Amok. You're someone else. And I want to know who."

Amok, temporarily devoid of any reply, gaped at this brash asari. "What the hell gave you that idea?"

"C-Sec records said Amok took off for Khar'shan today." Well . . . shit. "And we did our homework on your friend; he's tall and has a deep voice. You, on the other hand, are shorter and have a lighter voice." That viper smile reappeared on her face. "But there's another way to be sure. Take off your helmet."

"My hel—why?"

"Amok has a scar on his back eye. I'm willing to bet you don't."

"Don't do it, boss," said the turian next to me. "We can take these guys."

"I'd like to see you try," said the Eclipse salarian.

"I bet you would, you little shitstain," said a batarian somewhere behind me.

"Watch your tone, assclown," said Adrian, straightening his aim on my face. I noticed, at this time, a little red dot crouching on Adrian's temple, coming from the direction our little lookout was in.

"Stop!" Amok shouted. His helmet turned to Marophi, and I felt the glare he shot at her. "Fine—you caught me." He gripped his helmet and yanked it off. Against my better judgment, I turned to look. And fuck me, Marophi was right; the batarian's face was as smooth as a baby's bruised bottom. No eye scar, no nothing. It wasn't Amok.

I wanted to be angry, to throw some kind of temper tantrum. But the feeling of impending death stopped that in its tracks; I could rage later. I reaffirmed my focus on Adrian; the little red dot had now relocated to his left armpit, a much better target. Arteries do tend to bleed out quickly.

Not-Amok tossed his helmet away; it clattered off somewhere. "There—happy now?"

"Not quite," she said, having not moved an inch. I wish she would; my arms were starting to ache from aiming. "Who are you?"

"Pakum'Seshi, Amok's second. I come whenever he can't."

"Oh, feel free to enlighten us on why Amok couldn't come." A faint blue aura started flickering around her. "I'm sure you won't regret it."

Pakum slowly surveyed the mercs in front of him; he was calculating. "He's got heat on him; C-Sec's been sniffing around, looking for evidence and harassing Mr. Tornnus."

"And you thought that was a good enough reason to lie to us?"

Pakum seemed to, for a split second, look at her like she was an idiot. "Yes; it's generally not a good idea to send someone on something high-profile when they're trying to be low-profile, is it? He's at Tartarus now, if you want him here so badly."

"No," she said, examining the batarian imposter in front of her. "That was smart—something I would've done." This apparently gave her pause, because no shooting happened for a few moments. "Next time though, make sure to tell us—helps avoid some rather unfortunate problems."

"Yeah, sorry." Pakum lowered his hands. "Can you lower your guns now?"

Her viper smile made a third appearance, showing off some red sand tainted teeth. "I don't think so."

And then the shit hit the fan.

The back of Pakum's head exploded in a shower of gore, the crack of a sniper rifle loud against the quiet night. Eclipse soldiers started pouring out from behind the crates like liquid death, firing as they came. Someone yelled out "Ambush!" The turian next to me was blown away by a shotgun blast. Another sniper blast; Adrian crumpled to the ground. And before I could even think of aiming my gun, the asari was already glowing a familiar blue. She shot her hand out and I was lifted off the ground with the strength of a hurricane, flying helplessly backwards.

I flew over the first skycar and crashed into the last one, bouncing off like a ragdoll. My head smashed into the roof of the car, my helmet cracking with impossible force. I landed flat on my back in between the cars, unable to move. I didn't just see stars; I saw entire galaxies swim before my vision, a magical lightshow of pain. The sound of gunfire muted, turning to little pops. I laid there for an unknown time, breathing shallowly, trying consciously not to die.

"Quinn!"

My head rolled on the floor. I could barely hear Garrus' voice over the sound of gunfire and ringing.

"Quinn!"

I tried to say something but my mouth wouldn't cooperate. If I could just go to sleep…

A gun cocked above me. I made out the hazy figure of Marophi standing over me, shotgun in her hands. She was smiling. My fingers numbly twitched for a gun that I knew I had dropped. I clenched, waiting for the end.

_Bang! _

She toppled over from the force of the shot, purple blood spraying out like a fountain from her head. Another sniper round echoed out.

"Get the fuck out of there Quinn!"

Something exploded on the other side of the car. I rolled over to my hands and knees, survival instinct kicking in. I opened the door to the nearest car and threw myself in headfirst. I sat up in the driver's seat but kept my head down, looking through the windshield. Most of Nehlon's men had scattered or fallen. The Eclipse now had a crapload of guys in the area, slowly making their way towards the cars. Shit! I looked down at the dashboard and steering wheel in front of me and I realized something.

I don't know how to fly this thing.

How the fuck had Garrus started it again? Had he hit a button? Something? _What the fuck had he done_? I frantically started hitting random buttons on the screen in the center, feeling like a desperate child. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!

There was a death gurgle outside and a turian collapsed into the car door, dead on impact. He slid down the window, leaving a morbid trail of blue blood from the exit wound in his torso. And all around outside, his buddies were doing the same thing, being gunned down by merciless mercs. It was a slaughter out there.

"Fall back!" a batarian called over the radio. "Fall bac-" There was just enough of a lull in the firing for me to hear the poor bastard's innards be rearranged for him.

My efforts intensified, now slamming my fists on random buttons. None worked and my hands were starting to ache with the repeated smacks against the dashboard.

"They're trying to run!" a voice called from outside. I glanced over just in time to see a wide salvo line forming on my car, all manner of species and weapons trained on me.

I had the clearance of mind to duck just as the firing line began, bullets tearing into the car with supernatural force. The sleek metal bent and groaned with the impacts, but held fast. My hand began to blindly bash the holographic interface, fear overriding any grace or precision.

One of the twinkling lights must have been the ignition because the car suddenly hummed to life, the mass already growing lighter. Something warm exploded inside me.

And then the unknown sniper fired again, shattering the windshield. I screamed, slamming down on the gas pedal with my hand. The car rocketed forward as I floored the accelerator, compressing me with the G-force. I just barely remembered to pull back the steering wheel with my other hand before I passed over the merc's heads, narrowly avoiding decapitating the lot of them. All manner of deadly fire hammered the body of the car as I passed and left the docks, each round sending a stab of fear shooting through my stomach. I screamed again and forced my head up to navigate, the wind whipping against my helmet.

The car had been aimed at Kithoi Ward and that's where I headed with a vengeance. The assault rifle fire stopped abruptly as I moved out of range, the howling sounds of the wind overlapping the noise. My head was screaming at me in pain and it was almost so bad that I didn't notice the end of the atmosphere. I managed to get into the proper driving position and pulled the car down without any grace, steering on pure instinct, barely avoiding entering space. The car hiccupped in the air, sudden turbulence smacking the lose helmet against my wounded head. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to look back, to check for pursuers.

I was definitely not expecting to see a billow of smoke flooding from the back of the car.

My mouth dropped and the car hiccupped again in the air. The car must have taken too many shots. The beginning of a fire began to spread across the back, flames licking at the seats and the tribute I just noticed was in the car with me.

I turned back to the steering wheel, suddenly feeling vertigo grab hold of me. Time to descend. Now.

But the car was way ahead of me on that. It started dipping in the air without my permission, slowly losing altitude. The holographic screen in front of me came alive with red warnings and piercing alarms. I grabbed the wheel and tried to turn it, to aim away from the crowded locations. The car didn't respond, continuing its slow dive. I pulled harder to no effect. And I could only watch as the slow descent grew into a forty five degree dive, with me falling faster and faster.

The last thing I remembered thinking before the ground came rushing up unnaturally fast to meet me was how much I fucking hated cars.

**1:17, GST**

Banging. Someone was pounding on glass. Warmth was licking against my skin, pleasant tendrils caressing my form.

A sudden blast of cold. Someone shouting, barely there. Two hands pulling me.

With a tremendous amount of effort, I opened my eyes. I was being dragged. The flaming wreck of a car loomed in front of me, bright fire burning the back of my eyes.

I stopped moving. Something solid and hard was behind me. A wall. I was in a sitting position, unable to move.

Garrus' face appeared in front of me, mouthing something. No sound came out. The world was filled with silence. My shoulder's wiggled uncontrollably; he was shaking me.

Another taloned hand at Garrus' shoulder. Jaran. He was holding the sniper rifle out with one hand, aiming it somewhere. He mouthed something too, faster than Garrus. He pointed away. I almost thought I heard the word eclipse but the world distorted itself again. My eyes closed, no longer interested.

There was a tug at my armpits. I was being lifted. A pang of pain, diluted, almost an afterthought, ran through me. My arms and legs swung limply as I bounced up and down. My midriff was lying on something with the rest of my body dangling, the surface hard and smooth. And I'm sure I felt a puncture in the surface.

Then the merciful darkness took me again.

**A/N: Hey there readers! Yes, you there, reading this right now. This meta enough for you? Well, thanks for reading and all, but here I have a special request for the people who managed to slog through my story up until this point.**

**You see, lately I've been getting the impression that my writing just . . . drags. Like I take too long to get to the point, keep conversations going too long, and fail to get to the interesting bits. This could simply be the infamous author's doubt, but I'm not sure. So I'll ask you, my (hopefully) faithful readers; am I doing good in the pacing department? Please be honest and kick my ass if I am. I hate how ingratiating everyone is on this place. And no, this isn't me asking for reviews. For the people who are going to review, I'd like to know this from you guys/gals/androgynous monsters. For the people who aren't going to review . . . well, you're reading this is appreciated but feedback would be more appreciated. Just sayin'.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading! See you next time!**


	14. Ascendancy

Chapter Fourteen:

Ascendancy

"Nobody's up there, it's a deception

When will I ever learn?

I'm alone here

With emptiness, eagles and snow

Unfriendliness chilling my body

And whispering pictures of home."

_Pictures of Home, Deep Purple_

**9:72, GST**

"Just follow the pen Mr. Quinn."

I tried to, I really did. The black pen curved and twisted in front of me, up and down, back and forth, to and fro. I made my best effort to follow it, and I thought I was doing good for a while, but at some point my brain decided it didn't want to cooperate. My eyes crossed without permission, turning my vision into a grainy movie and further upsetting my oncoming migraine. What I thought was the pen pulled back as I tried to correct my failing senses.

The nurse let slip a very small glance of concern; asari were basically the same as humans in the emotion department and my half-assed C-Sec training now made me automatically pick up facial cues. "Good job," she said, typing on her omnitool.

People are such bad liars.

Our unspoken pattern continued; she focused entirely on typing my poor results on her tool while my glassy eyes collapsed back on the wall. The only sounds were her electronic keys beeping and the gentle hum of the giant ball of metal I was calling my home. The mundane-ness was tearing into me.

It was the next day and I, unsurprisingly, was in the medical suite of the Hotel C-Sec. I'd woken up here, in a very uncomfortable bed, with a bright light being shined in my eyes. Still in the mental state of "freaking the fuck out", I'd panicked, punched out a salarian, and tried to run. I was immediately tackled, restrained, and given a severe talking to by said salarian, who turned out to be my physician. He didn't really want to treat me after that. The asari currently looking after me was the dude's assistant, some wet behind the tentacles resident who probably didn't know the difference between subdural hematoma and a headache. I guess I should feel lucky.

She'd been examining me for a while now. I really couldn't give an exact number. With the painkillers slithering through my veins and the general shock of everything that had happened to me, time had gained the quality of a buffering video; it was muddied and slow, the visuals were stagnated, and you just wanted it to hurry the fuck up. It was like being high without any of the enjoyment.

I guess you could say I was in shock; I guess you could say a lot of things about me. I don't think I could argue with that, but I didn't really feel that way. I felt more like my brain wasn't completely on, that my neurons were just half-assing the electrical signal. I don't know—thinking was becoming harder and more pain-inducing. And for someone like me, who loves to think about crap, that was almost castration.

"Mr. Quinn?"

Without any real thought, I pulled my eyes back up to the asari. What was her name again? I know she'd told me it, but I don't think I'd really cared enough to listen.

"Yeah?"

"Can you tell me what time it is?" I tried to check my omnitool's clock but she put a warm blue hand in the way. "Without cheating, please."

The little pain goblin in my head chucked a spear at my frontal lobe. I rubbed my head to make him stop. "The morning, I don't know. How the hell am I supposed to know that?"

She tried to smile, but it didn't quite work. This time though, she didn't say anything before continuing to type. Her loss. I'm the best person she'll ever meet.

I hadn't gotten any news from Garrus, or Jaran for that matter; whatever was going on with the Eclipse/Nehlon fiasco was something I was out of the loop on. I didn't even know if my little stunt back there had been worth anything. The thought of my efforts going completely to waste didn't exactly please me, but there was nothing I could do about it at the moment. I'd have to wait and see if the universe decided to throw me a bone for once.

"You almost done doc?" I asked.

She offered a forced smile. "Almost. You have no serious injuries, remarkably, but I have to log your visit in."

"Wait, really? No concussions, burns, torn ligaments. . . ?" I suppose I should be thanking Gatsby for that. Most people don't walk away from a nose-dive car accident with a headache.

"You do have an exorbitant amount of contusions, but no, you're fine." She smiled. "I could hit you over the head with something if you want."

"I think I'm good, thanks."

My eyes wandered over to a poster I hadn't bothered to notice. It was very vividly colored, with thick and broad hues not unlike a propaganda piece. There was a turian who, by some weird accident, had gotten his arm chopped completely off, up to the shoulder. He was trying to explain to the salarian doctor that he was perfectly okay while blue blood gushed from the hole in his torso. It was weirdly fascinating to me. Not because it was funny, but because I suddenly couldn't understand why such graphic violence could be played for laughs.

"Michael?"

That caught me off-guard; no one who knew me said my first name. I took a gander up to find my asari doctor staring at me with a look of concern.

"Do you want to . . . talk?"

"Talk?"

"Yes, talk. About anything."

"Er . . . no? Why?"

Her face twisted in hesitation. "It's just . . . I've seen that stare before. That look you have."

_Oh boy, here we go._

I rolled my eyes, trying to be disrespectful, but she kept on going. "I used to shadow a doctor at the mental health institute down the road and—well, I saw that same exact look you have on veteran faces." My mind went to a picture of an old paraplegic 'Nam veteran drinking warm beer and yelling about Charlie in the bushes. I snorted, which peeved my resident doctor. "I'm serious, Michael. Post traumatic stress disorder is a very serious—"

"Please," I said, clutching my head, "don't give me any of that pseudoscience bullshit."

"Pseudoscience? Michael, psychiatry is a very well-respected—"

"Don't call me Michael," I said, standing on my wobbly legs. "Are we done here? I have shit to do."

Her mouth set itself in a pencil thin line. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm trying very hard not to."

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Is this how you treat everyone who tries to help you?"

Something inside me, some moral wall covered in scars and beaten to dust, collapsed. "No, just the nosy ones who can't mind their own business." She raised both her hairless brows. I kept going. "Look, don't try to pretend you care about me. And don't patronize me either. I'm a fucking adult, I'll go to a therapist when I goddamn well please."

Her face turned to stone; all emotion was wiped clean and what was left was seriously devoid of any beauty or hospitality. "Fine then. You're cleared for duty. You can go now."

"Thanks." I started to walk away. It was hard, seeing as my mental state was very sub-par and my legs had fallen asleep, but I made sure not to trip.

"I was only trying to help Michael," she called, for some odd reason.

"Fuck off." There was a tiny candy bowl on the counter filled with vibrant alien sweets. I jammed my hand in and took out all I could. The bowl, though, moved with my hand over the counter, shattering on the floor. I didn't look back and I didn't say I was sorry. I left the room into the bustling C-Sec halls.

Part of me felt bad for being a dick; the other part didn't really care. I was a little surprised that I was agreeing more with my latter side. I guess being around so many sociopaths had made some apathy wash off on me.

Who was she to tell me what to do? I can take care of myself. So what if I'm acting moody or staring oddly at something? It's my right. And I damn well have a right to be a little depressed after everything that's happened. Hell, I'm far more sane than I have any right to be. I should be a hermit, eating pudding out of a jar and screaming about giant machines come to kill us all. Fuck her, she doesn't know what she's talking about.

My headache flared—the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway ripped through me like daggers. The hallway was bustling with multiple species who seemed to expect me to just step out of their way. I bumped into a few of them and each time that little goblin in my head stabbed my cerebral cortex a little harder. Their incessant chatter, sounding something akin to the buzzing of insects, provided more incentive for the green little bastard. I could barely walk too—each step took my entire concentration and my mind was drowning in a thick fog.

I need to lie down somewhere. I needed to lie down and not think about anything for a very, very long time.

So I kept trudging through. I'd gained some inkling of where everything was here and the giant-ass "You Are Here" signs could've helped a blind person. It was just a matter of not tripping over myself to get there. Which is harder than it sounds.

Aliens kept glancing at me. This was by no means out of the ordinary. Something I'd learned firsthand living here is that aliens—turians in particular—looked at humans like we were walking freaks. Or ticking time bombs. Most of the time it was nothing extreme—just some quick glances here and there, maybe a subtle whisper to their friend. We were second-class citizens to a lot of them. I'd been bothered by it for the first few weeks but now I was learning not to care. These people would learn to love humans soon enough.

I was getting near the elevator out of the bacon factory, and my mind started racing for places for me to crash. Most people on this station hated vagrants and I've been run out of more hidey holes than I can remember. There was this nice little salarian restaurant, though, about a mile down the road that I'd taken to sleeping behind. The owners were pretty nice about it; they let me sleep back there and sometimes even threw me some leftover scraps. I guess I can go there.

I rounded the corner to the elevator hallway. And stopped dead in my tracks.

The hallway was bare bones empty, sans for one man. Gatsby was leaning against the wall next to the elevator, crisp white suit and all. He was flipping a coin in his hands, sliding it around his knuckles and watching it dance through the air. It wasn't an ordinary coin; one side was pitch black and the other was a holy white. He palmed the coin and looked at me, sunflower eyes glowing against the dim light.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, nonchalant.

"The fuck do you want?" No, I hadn't forgotten his earlier warnings not to swear at him. I reasoned that whatever hell he wanted to drag me to had to be better than this place. Lucifer must be a pretty cool guy next to Pallin.

He smiled warmly, which made me ball my fists. "I was merely wondering where you might be heading off to. Amok is still on the loose, isn't he Mr. Quinn?"

"You know what? Fuck you. I'm not doing this." I spun around and went to retrace my steps . . . only to be staring at the exact same hallway I'd turned away from. I blinked. It was a perfect clone in every way: same lights, same elevator, even the same Gatsby flipping the same coin. Like someone had copied and pasted it right in front of me.

"Do you really think you could get rid of me that easily?" He tossed the coin again, but, instead of falling back down, it hung suspended in the air. He twirled his finger. It split into two halves, one white and one black. They briefly spun in the air before fusing back together. Gravity then decided to kick in and it dropped back into his palm.

I glanced to my right and then back in front of me. It was the same hallway on both sides, with no other way out. I was trapped. "Why are you here? I've done what you asked—I'm working for C-Sec, righting wrongs and killing aliens. What more do you want?"

"I want to know how truly committed you are to this, Mr. Quinn." Both Gatsby's spoke at the same time, creating a very creepy duality. They pocketed the coin and gestured to the elevator. "Please, enter." The elevator changed to a door. I wish I could say something more dramatic than that, but that's what happened; one second it was an elevator, the next it was a door. Freaky.

"Go fuck yourself." Gatsby was a god and I was a lowly mortal. Pissing him off was the smart thing to do.

"Don't be so obdurate Mr. Quinn. Please, if you would. . . ."

"Nice outfit Gatsby. Where'd you get it? The Go-Fuck-Yourself store?"

"You're being very irrational."

"What did the misanthrope say to the contortionist? Go fuck yourself."

There was laughter. Right in my ear. I yelled something incoherent, stumbled backwards and fumbled for my gun. Gatsby was right in front of me, silver eyes bright and friendly, a wide good-natured smile plastered on. "I must admit Mr. Quinn, you are a tenacious one." He wagged a finger at me. "Much more strong-willed than the others. It's quite entertaining."

I finally got my slippery fingers around my pistol and leveled it at my tormentor. "Back off Gatsby. I'll shoot."

_There is no possible comment I can make to convey the sheer stupidity of what you're doing._

He laughed. "Please Mr. Quinn, don't be ridiculous. You can't shoot me."

"Wanna bet?" I squeezed the trigger. I was expecting the familiar kick and crack of a bullet being fired, but instead my gun made a high-pitched deflating noise, not unlike a balloon being squeezed. A flash of rainbow and white flew from the barrel. It was a little flag on a stick with confetti raining down around it. The flag had a single word on it, printed in all black letters: _BANG!_

"Oh, ha ha, very funny Gatsby."

"Mr. Quinn, I don't think you understand me." He took a step toward me and I took one back, keeping my gun up. I don't know why I kept pointing it at him. It just made me feel better. "I am not some demon for you to fear. I have your best interests at heart."

I tore the flag out of the barrel, yanking and snapping the wood. I pulled the trigger again. Instead of a flag a colorful balloon shot out with a whiny blare, like the kind your creepy uncle would blow at your birthday. A strangled noise escaped me and threw my toy gun at Gatsby. It went sailing through his ethereal chest noiselessly, but didn't come out the back. It disappeared inside of him.

He straightened the black rose on his chest. "Why do you insist on doing this Mr. Quinn? It's very tiresome and serves no purpose."

"Fuck you!" I dashed forward and punched for his mouth. My fist didn't just pass through him; the second my knuckles made contact with his skin he, quite literally, burst into a cloud of butterflies. They fluttered away in all directions, bright splotches of orange and black beating about the air. I stumbled backwards. One solitary butterfly, a brilliant monarch in black and white, fluttered in my face and I batted it away. And as soon as I touched it, it burst into ash.

"Where'd you go?" I yelled, head swiveling on a pin to watch every corner of the hallway. "Answer me!"

One of the hallways slammed shut in front of me; the ceiling dropped down and molded itself into a smooth piece of wall, like a block being slid into place. There was only one hallway now. The door at the end of this hallway folded open on its own, revealing thick blackness beyond. The intent was obvious.

"No, no, no. I am not going into the Twilight Zone. Forget it."

The hallway didn't change. The butterflies had all disappeared, either from bursting into ash or flying through the metal walls. I had no weapon, no backup, no possible exit but the mysterious portal in front of me. It was like in a video game when the developers railroad you into doing something because they're not creative enough to give you a choice. Here, though, I think I was about to get hammered with some lesson I hadn't been grasping. It seemed to be how things work with Gatsby.

I sighed. There really wasn't any other choice. I made my way over to the door. The darkness inside of it was absolute, thick as tar, and gave nothing away. When I actually got close to the door, however, there was a loud metallic clang that came echoing out of it, faded but strong. It was a bell, a pretty huge one by the sound of it. It clanged continuously, about five seconds apart each time, and I felt a little somber listening to it. It sounded like a funeral bell.

"You know, that doesn't help at all." There was no reply. I hadn't been expecting one. I only wanted to hear my voice.

I took a deep breath and stepped through the door.

I was in a plane of nothingness. There was no other way to describe it. It was solid blackness everywhere you looked, completely featureless. The only thing I could make out was my own body, arms and legs and clothes and all. I had the impression that I wasn't standing on anything, but I wasn't falling either. There wasn't anything to feel; no physical objects, no heat, no sound, no wind. I didn't even think there was any air, though I now didn't have the need to breathe. I could almost fade away, there was no solid object to compare your existence to.

"Hello?" I said, or, rather, I tried to say. The second the words left my mouth they disappeared in the void, swallowed whole. I know I'd said something—my lips had moved, the air had left my lungs—but there was no sound. Only a smothering silence. I swiveled my head, trying to find the door back to reality, but it had disappeared behind me. I was trapped.

A green line appeared, creating a horizon. The line grew into a thick band and kept going, wider and wider, until it gained a two dimensional shape. Then it sort of shot out at me, but now it was a flat, horizontal line. It rolled under and past my feet so that I was "standing" on it. Now I could see that it was actually a layer of grass and dirt, with weeds and wilted stalks scattered around inside of it. I looked behind me, or what felt like it; the grass carpet now extended out as far as I could see.

Gray blocks fell from "above", rectangle meteors that pounded the ground like some sort of apocalypse. Instead of crashing through the paper thin floor, they embedded themselves in it, the majority of their body standing up straight and rigid. One such meteor hit the ground a few feet in front of me. There was writing carved on it: _Anthony Goodwin, April 9, 1981—December 14, 2010. _I looked at another nearby block: _Marseille Lopez, January 27, 1999—February 4, 2012._

These were headstones. Now that I looked, they were falling in neat little rows, dead names lined up for viewing pleasure. A grayness manifested overhead; clouds, thick but without any rain. A giant oak tree joined the mortar strike and stuck its roots proudly in the middle of a row. A casket shaped hole dropped out of the ground in front of a tombstone, disappearing below and leaving a dirt tunnel in its place. The bell had returned in force, much louder and more striking, each clang shaking my bones.

The headstones stopped falling. The stage was set. And then the actors appeared.

People, humans specifically, started appearing out of nowhere in a tight square formation, always dressed in black and sitting on foldable chairs. They didn't move; they stayed in their seats like a photograph. A priest, a glazed expression on his balding face, appeared on his feet, looking down and reading from an old book. A closed casket materialized next to him, decorated with colorful flowers. This was all around the tombstone that had the rectangular hole in front of it.

I moved, though it wasn't really movement; it was a dream-like walk, where you want to run and only manage a detached pace. As I passed by all the motionless people, I was reminded of a row of mannequins. I wanted to stop and examine them, but my legs instead carried me to the grave. There was an attraction to it, like I was being pulled. I bent down on a knee and read the inscription.

_Michael Quinn, July 12, 1993—August 21, 2012 _

I read it over and over again, each time not really believing it. I glanced back at the people behind me. It was my family and friends. But not all of them. Just twelve. My mom and dad, my brother, and an odd assortment of friends, some of whom I barely knew. They all looked gloomy and sad, but no one was crying—my mom was close, but still held together. Hell, one guy was texting someone on his fucking phone with a bored expression. It was a small, rather pathetic looking crowd—if only this many people showed up to a party I threw, I'd be embarrassed.

The whole thing was horrifyingly surreal. It was the exact same graveyard in my hometown, nicknamed "The Bonies" by some of our more creative delinquents. The church where I knew the bell was striking wasn't in view, but the rusted piece of brass still sounded the same. A lot of the graves were vandalized, still destroyed from a drunken party around graduation. Some of it was my handiwork—I'm not too proud of that—but I could still remember who had done what to each grave. Even the clouds were familiar—it'd been August and the cooling of the ocean meant overcast weather for the rest of summer. The clouds illuminated the whole area in a somber cloak, white and deathly.

There was a crunch of dead grass behind me—Gatsby was walking calmly along, hands in his pockets, bright smile shining down on the dingy graves. "Something wrong Mr. Quinn? Normally I would expect more anger and curses to the sky from you." He stopped and read the book the priest had in his hands. "Ah, the book of John—delightful read, a bit heavy on eternal salvation, but still enjoyable. Certainly a crowd-pleaser."

"Why are you doing this?" None of it had really clicked yet. I don't think it had in the first place, I'd avoided thinking about things since I got here, but now my mind seemed unable to really process any of it. What resulted was a numb euphoria and a very dry mouth.

"To prove a point." He opened the casket and shook his head. "Tragic. But that's how these things happen. Some young man with the world in front of him dies an ignoble death and is quickly forgotten by society."

"You know, you're really bad at this whole pep-talk thing." I made my way over to my family. There was my folks, my dad looking downtrodden with his sun-stained face and blonde balding hairline, and my mom's bright face and soft features set hard with pain. My brother Sean, who everyone swore looked exactly like me, had cut his loose surfer mop into a military buzz—I remembered him saying something about enlisting out of high school. He looked like he was praying, his hands together and his head down. That sent a knot in my throat—Sean was an avowed atheist.

"This isn't a 'pep-talk'—simply a reminder of sorts." He peered down into my grave. "You can't go back."

"Hey, thanks for the newsflash buddy. Didn't catch that the first time." I rubbed Sean's head, the way I always did when he was trying to get in some girl's pants. It was cold and about as inviting as a cactus.

"Don't be glib." He touched my shoulder but I shrugged him away. "Deflecting problems never solves them."

_Gone forever._

I started doing a mocking slow clap. "Some sage advice there Confucius. What else do you have? 'Man who sleeps with itchy butthole wakes with stinky finger'? 'Man who drops watch in toilet has shitty time'?"

The smile dimmed. "I would appreciate some seriousness, Mr. Quinn."

"Yeah, well, you're shit outta luck there." I looked at the giant oak tree nearby—a memory of drinking underneath it with some friends a long time ago came to mind. "I already get what you're trying to say. I'm dead in my old life. Boom, splat, hamburger on the ground. Nothing's gonna change that, and you definitely won't." I stared into his rose-red eyes. "I'm not some audience surrogate that needs to be spoonfed information, I can figure shit out on my own."

"Hm." He watched me in return. "A wounded animal will often fight those who try to help it."

"Wow, insightful. How many fortune cookies did you have to eat to find that?"

He examined me for a bit, then nodded and walked over to the rectangle hole in the ground. "I was hoping for this meeting to be productive, but it seems you want to be a comedian."

_Worm food._

I walked over to the guy who was texting, Nick I think his name was, and took the phone out of his hands. "Yeah, well, I'll be here all week." I tossed the phone in my hands a few times—then I threw it at a headstone and felt some small spark of satisfaction when it shattered. "'Cause I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Choice is an illusion, Mr. Quinn. Every decision you have and have not made has all played out in some time or place, at one point or another. Your life is far more predestined than you might want to believe."

"Cut the fucking theatrics." I started stalking around my audience. "Just tell me what you came here for and leave me alone."

"As you wish." A sharp breeze cut through the area, blowing the grass. "I wanted to… facilitate the transfer from your old life to the new one. Make things easier."

_Wasted life._

I spun around. "Easier? You think this," I kicked over an empty chair, "is helping? Jesus Christ Gatsby, if you want to help an alcoholic, you don't shove a bottle of tequila up his ass!"

He stared off into the distance, smiling. "Why do you care so much, Mr. Quinn? You are technically an adult, ready to survive on your own—shouldn't you have outgrown these juvenile bonds with your family?"

I made to yell some more but the anger bubbling up turned into laughter, and the noise that came out sounded like a clown strangling a small animal. "Juvenile? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know having normal human emotions was juvenile. My bad. Next time I get dropped into a fictional universe, I'll be sure to just start killing people and not think for myself."

"It certainly would be better for both parties." He walked over and plucked the Bible from the priest's hands. He started leafing through it, smiling to himself. "And I don't think you've answered my question yet."

"Tough shit." I kept walking around the group, fists curling and uncurling. I couldn't stand still—every time I did, a burning sensation would fester inside me and tear through my veins. "When have you ever given me a straight answer on anything? Or, better yet, when have you ever done me a favor?"

_Forgotten._

He laughed and I almost snarled. "Mr. Quinn, I saved your life! In your understanding of it, at least. I would consider that a very large favor."

"Saved? _Saved?_" I half-ran, half-stomped my way over to him. "You call sending me into a different universe saved? You didn't save my life, you fucking destroyed it!"

Gatsby stopped going through the book, though his smile didn't wane. "Mr. Quinn, please be calm—"

"_No! No, fuck your calm! You fucking ruined me!_" I didn't try to hit Gatsby; instead, I swung around and haymackered the priest. He toppled over, stiff as a statue, and fell into the open grave, making a dull thud. I continued on, barreled down and smashed into the casket. It shook wildly and the stands collapsed, making the tumbling casket upend the flowers as it went, sending soft white petals sailing through the air. The door fell open as it hit the ground and a body fell out.

It was me. Or what was left of it. My body was dented and malformed like a chew toy, the chest cavity caved in and my lower torso bloated. My right arm was flattened across the bicep, a large tire mark etched into the skin. Both my legs were twisted at horrible angles, white bones poking through at random intervals. The worst, though, was my head; it was as flat as a doormat, my face scrunched and unrecognizable, the skin a bruised yellow, my eyes gone and the sockets bent shut.

I staggered back and my stomach churned—I twisted my head and lost all my food in one chunky plunge. My feet tripped over themselves, sending me sprawling to the ground. I scrambled back on my hands and bumped into something—my brother, staring down at me with bloodshot eyes. I screamed and kicked out at him. His limp body fell into my dad's, which fell into my mom's, which fell into the next person and the next until all the people in the front row slumped over like a pair of dominoes.

I scuttled backwards until my back slammed into a headstone. I pulled my knees in and buried my head in my hands, trying to wish them away, trying to wish everything away. I didn't cry—I got damn close to it, but I held it in. Instead I shut myself off and went deep inside, deep down to where I could find a sanctuary, somewhere safe. Somewhere to be happy.

I was dead. My old life was over. I'd never gotten to live. Never gotten to travel the world, meet new people, have kids, grow old. And I'd never get the chance. I wasted it all by a stupid mistake. Now I'm just a statistic, a name used to demonstrate the dangers of reckless driving. A fucking joke. I never thought it would happen to me, I never thought I'd wind up being the plaything for some goddamn—

"Mr. Quinn?"

I seized up and almost choked on the air. "Go away."

"Please, get up. This is no way for you to act."

"Yes it is, don't you get it?" I swallowed a knot in my throat. "I'm fucking pathetic. I was too stupid to live in my old life and I'm too weak to live in the new one. I might as well die. . . ."

The grass shifted. "Mr. Quinn, look at me." I didn't move. There was a soft tap on my head. "Look at me." I did and found Gatsby squatting down in front of me. His eyes were a slow ocean blue and his smile was warm. "You are not worthless. Never think that. You are destined to achieve very great things—believe me."

I tried to laugh but my breath just hitched. "I don't know why you keep calling me a hero Gatsby. I haven't done anything to prove that."

His smile widened. "You will. Now," he stood up and offered a hand, "come. We have work to do."

I stared at his hand for a while, trying to force down the knot in my throat. Eventually I batted his hand away and climbed to my feet. He patted me on the shoulder but I shrugged it off. I didn't want to be consoled.

"This way." He pointed away and I noticed a large, two dimensional black rectangle standing next to my grave. It looked like someone had taken a cookie cutter and chopped out a section of reality.

I went towards it, very much wanting to leave this place. The world was silent—the bell had stopped pounding a while ago but I hadn't noticed. I kept my eyes squarely on my feet. I didn't look at my old friends and family, I didn't look at my corpse or its casket, and I didn't look at the familiar graves. When I passed by the square dirthole, however, I saw the frozen body of the priest I knocked over. "I, er . . . sorry."

I stopped at the cusp of the portal. I took a deep breath and turned around. Everyone was still there, knocked over and piled together, stiff as mall mannequins. I closed my eyes. For a second, the silence and serenity all blended together in a moment of unparalleled tranquility. I let out my breath and opened my eyes. And I only saw an empty graveyard, no family or Gatsby, just a faded memory. My grave was full and decorated with dead flowers.

I turned around and walked through the portal without looking back.

**10:03, GST**

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a rather generic looking cup of coffee. It was in a disposable white cup, almost like a Starbucks one, with steam lazily drifting up out of it. It smelled saturated with cream and sugar; just the way I like it.

My head was lying on something metallic, something very cold. I was in a sitting position, what felt like a chair, though that seemed to be made of metal too. I blinked, getting my bearings, and drunkenly lifted my head.

I was back in the C-Sec Investigation Department—more specifically, I was at "my" desk. The room itself was the same: silver desks in rows, wanted signs for various aliens tacked on everywhere, a little snack bar off in the corner. It was eerily quiet; most of the Investigators weren't here, and the scattered few who were here—all turian males—were being relatively noiseless, filling out forms or chatting with each other. I gazed around for a bit, licked my dry lips, and returned my head to the desk.

Did that all really happen? Was I dreaming? I could taste the hot bitter coffee residue in my mouth and my seat felt like it was at about body temperature. To all outward appearances, I'd been here a while. But had I really? Had Gatsby dropped me here out of space? Or had I forgotten coming? Maybe I've gone full schizophrenic and hallucinated everything that's happened. Maybe I'm being too introspective. I can't even trust my own mind anymore.

God, this is too existential. I need a nap.

"There you are."

I jerked my head up, being completely suspicious. Garrus walked around me, a good-sized pile of datapads in his hands. He flopped them down in between our desks and sat down. "That was smart, hiding in the one place I wouldn't think to look." He reached for a datapad, but stopped midway and examined me. "You okay?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm tired." I flexed the fingers on my hand. "Garrus, you'd tell me if you weren't real right?"

He blinked. "I don't know how to answer that." I made some odd noise in my throat and ran both hands through my hair. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." I straightened my back and a wave of bruises came alive on my torso. "I feel like shit, though."

He hummed for a second or two. "Well, don't blame me for that—I didn't tell you to crash the getaway car."

"To be fair, you didn't tell me not to either."

"I thought it would be implied."

"Guess not." I nodded to the stack of datapads. "What're those?"

His mandibles twitched. "These are all the forms we need to fill out."

My eyes widened; there was a _lot_ of datapads there. "You have got to be shitting me."

"I wish I was." He took the top one. "Incident reports, Matt's release forms, formal charges against Vince, custody transfers for the evidence we obtained." He tossed the pad over to my side. "You have a lot of work to do."

I lobbed it back to him. "I think you mispronounced 'we'."

"Maybe I did." He shrugged and flung it over. "I was just under the impression that saving your life would be worth, say, ten forms each. It's only fair."

I stared at the stack. There wasn't enough forms in there for each time he'd saved my ass; I'd have to wade through a few more stacks to pay him off. "How about two each?"

"Ten."

"Four."

"Ten."

"Five."

"Ten."

"Seven."

"Deal."

Well, that's a little better. I picked up the datapad. Oh boy, this thing was an abomination of bureaucratic gibberish. Every little inane detail you could think about was asked for, and in painstaking detail. It'd take me at least twenty minutes to fill this one out, and there was still over a dozen more to do. Jesus Christ, I hate this job. "You couldn't have brought me breakfast or something?"

"I'll do that next time," Garrus said, plopping his dinosaur feet on the table. "You might want to hurry with that. The raid's in a few hours."

"Raid?" And here I thought that paperwork would be the worst thing for me today…

He pulled out his pistol and peered down the sights. "On Tartarus. Pallin approved it about an hour ago from the evidence we gathered. We're obligated to attend."

"No shit. I guess that means Amok's there."

"Well, no, we haven't confirmed it—but that's what the evidence you collected suggests. Good job on that, by the way."

Good. He deserves what's coming to him. And I want to be there when he takes the fall. It's the least I can do at this point.

"Here," Garrus said, standing up. "I'll go fetch some snacks. You like those round, dough-y things right?"

"Yeah. Get me, like, five of those."

"Will do."

He made to pass by me, but I held out an arm. "Hey Garrus, I, uh . . . thanks. For saving my ass. I appreciate it."

At first, he didn't seem to know what to say. Then he smiled. "Don't thank me yet, I think I forgot a few forms."

I threw up my hands in resignation. "Ah, well, thanks for ruining any sort of meaningful connection we might've had right there."

"No problem." He slapped me on the shoulder. "And don't worry about it—we're partners."

He sauntered off, leaving me alone with a cold pit in my stomach. Yeah, some partner I was. Whiny, brooding, having to be dragged kicking and screaming through everything. I was a grown-up contestant on every single reality babysitting show. Hell, I wouldn't like me; I'd absolutely hate me. It's a miracle Garrus is willing to put up with me.

I stared at the report. This was my life now. Stacks of paperwork, chasing criminals, a hard-ass boss, a cowboy alien partner. It sounds cool on paper, but the results so far had been unsatisfactory, to say the least. Maybe it'll get better; maybe it won't. I don't really know. And there's still the Reapers to deal with. Things are gonna get very hectic in a few years and I think I'm gonna be right in the shitstorm.

I sat there for a while, thinking about too many things. Then, with a weary sigh, I started filling out the first of many forms to come.


	15. Inside the Fire

**A/N: Warning: Long-ass chapter is long. Despite my best efforts to edit/trim this bad boy down, it still got pretty huge. So, you know, be ready for that.**

Chapter Fifteen:

Inside the Fire

"The prisoners rotting in their cells

Children of this godless hell

Digesting in acidic blood

The devoured."

_He Who Spawned the Furies, Trivium_

**13:94, GST**

"I'm sure it's fine, Quinn."

I took my eyes off my pistol's iron sights to look at Garrus. "Huh?"

"Your gun. You've checked it seven times now."

I peered down the sight one last time before holstering the gun. "Can't keep your eyes off me, Garrus?"

A salarian, dirty and wearing torn clothes, made a move towards us, but Garrus held his pistol on him and the guy slinked back into the shadows. "Professional courtesy."

"It's cool, Garrus—I mean, I know I'm devilishly handsome and all, but please, let's keep this partnership platonic."

"Of course." There was a lull in conversation. Somewhere to the right, the soft crackling of fire could be heard. To our left, a batarian and a turian were having a shouting match in a store that just screamed "drug haven". Behind us, the soft pitter-patter of a child's footsteps running down the metal floor leaked out. And somewhere a human baby was crying. "Don't know why you're checking it anyway," he continued. "It's not like you could actually hit anything."

"Think of that on your own?"

"No—extranet."

It was raid time, baby—Garrus and I were shifting our way through Bachjret's illustrious project district on the yellow-brick road to Tartarus. We'd parked a ways back to go there all stealth-like instead of just rushing the place. I wish we'd driven all the way there—this place was a god-forsaken shithole. The alleys were poorly-lit and covered with trash, there was alien graffiti and foreclosed homes everywhere, it smelled like pollution and misery, and people—barely above rats on the food chain—kept staring at us as we passed. Apparently they didn't like intruders on their shitpile. You could only catch glimpses of them—maybe a set of eyes peeking around the corner, a harsh swear barely heard, the patter of feet scampering around. It was only a matter of time before they grew some balls and descended on us like a pack of wolves.

I think I might start looking for apartments here.

"You ready?" Garrus asked, avoiding a suspicious looking puddle on the floor. "Your first raid?"

"Am I ready? Does the Pope shit in the woods?"

His mouth opened and closed. "What?"

I blinked. "Uh, sorry, mixed metaphor." A batarian stepped out from a corner ahead of us. His four eyes and my two locked for a moment, and then he huffed and stepped back. Pussy. "But yeah, I'm ready."

Poor attempts at metaphors aside, I was ready. I'd been ready since I'd seen Jilla's body in the alley. Amok didn't deserve sweet freedom—he deserved to be locked up and sodomized by a hulking krogan named Tina. I had never been one for karma or destiny or any of that mystical shit, but now? This was fate, plain and simple. The stars were aligned, the gods were watching, the die was cast. There wasn't any choice in the matter—Amok was going to fall. Count on it.

Was I scared? You bet your ass I was. Despite all my bitching about wanting to die, I still held a very stubborn will to live. I was sweating pure adrenaline right now. But this all felt right in a way. I wanted to be here, no matter how much I complained to the contrary. Call it anger, justice, some wayward moral conviction, whatever. I was ready to do some shit, bag me a few criminals and prove my worth. I'd just probably stand behind Garrus if any shots were fired.

A downside to this? I had to wear armor and a shield. Considering the high probability that some of these degenerate fuckholes would try to shoot me dead, it was only smart. But it sucked, man. It was a standard C-Sec garb—black and blue outfit with pockets out the ass—that hugged me like an iron maiden, tough and pretty inflexible. It would stop bullets, hopefully, but it was too tight to breathe properly and the shield generator was clunky and awkward at my waist. Not to mention I had to walk like I had a stick up my ass. Have I mentioned I hate armor?

There was a harsh echo of sniffing off to my right—two humans and a turian were sitting along an alley wall, passing a white bag back and forth while grunting and picking at their noses. They saw us and bolted down the tight alley, knocking over a scantily clad asari. When she fell, I saw a worn product only the bravest of costumers would want. I shook my head and kept going. "Where's the nearest way outta this shithole?"

"You know," Garrus said, "this neighborhood has the highest crime rate on the Citadel. We're going to be here a lot."

"Perfect. Looks like I'm getting more vaccinations." A group of batarians were talking in hushed tones ahead of us, leaning against a closed apartment building. They stopped talking when we got close—when we got right next to them, they all turned to stare at me. Not Garrus—right at me. As we moved on, they muttered something ugly and kept talking in low guttural tones, sounding like demons.

I could talk about the rest of the trip to Tartarus, but I don't want to. It was the same deal the whole way there—miserable poverty, rampant drug use, condemned buildings. Kinda like Africa with aliens. This was the outer layer of the Citadel, anyway—the more civilized areas were down in the workings of the arm. On the outer layer, where space was just a thin layer of atmosphere away, all the people who couldn't afford an apartment down below had to survive up here. And when you stick all the poor people of an area together into one spot, you get a cesspool of crime. It was inevitable, and there was always someone ready to make some cash off it. That's capitalism for ya.

But, again, I don't want to talk about it. I'll start to sound like a humanitarian.

Eventually some deity took pity on us and the exit out of this shithole loomed ahead. Both Garrus and I increased our pace a little. When we got out of the thick neighborhood, the air cleared and I wiped a sweaty hand across my sweaty head. I felt like I didn't have fifty crosshairs on my back anymore.

Tartarus leered in front of us, black and grandiose as ever. The rainbow lights snaking along the building and the Hollywood lights raking the sky gave the impression of a sinful throne, the head cancer cell on a giant tumor. I could almost see the evil shining off the two story building. Some violent techno music was escaping from the place, dulled and moody. I reaffirmed my grip on my pistol. Time to do this.

Our fellow C-Sec officers were gathered around the front, hanging out and talking amongst themselves. There was about ten of them, with the majority being turians, a few humans, and a lone asari. Jaran was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and watching something on his omnitool. A lot of the officers were watching videos on their tools, actually. Other than them, the area was empty and devoid of life. I guess rats know when to run from danger. But what stuck out to me was that krogan minotaur wasn't guarding the door anymore. I didn't know what to make of that.

As Garrus and I got closer, Jaran burst out laughing, smoking leaking out of his mouth. He rewound the video with a talon swipe, watched for a few seconds, and then started laughing again. He took a drag in between giggles and noticed us approaching. His face lit up. "Quinn! Enjoying the fame?"

A few of the other Enforcers started sniggering at me. "What?"

"Don't play dumb. It's nothing to be ashamed about."

I was starting to blush from all the officers staring at me. I turned to Garrus, but he just shrugged. "I really have no idea what you're talking about."

He flicked his head. "C'mere." I obliged. He rewound the tape and started playing.

At first, it was just a shot of a small room, seemingly from a security camera. The room was lit by a single pink bulb, with a plush carpet, bare bones bed, and a drawer covered in lubricants and sex toys. It was a "room" at Tartarus. A stab of fear hit me in the stomach.

A door opened out of frame—a human and asari came in, the human pulling the asari. Jaran had to fight from laughing. It was me and Sapphire, though our faces were blurred out and the sound was off. But that was definitely me—my clothes stood out way too much. I led her over to the bed and we started going through the business, making out and ripping each other's clothes off. From an outside perspective, I could see what god-awful form I had.

"Here comes the best part," Jaran said, grinning wide. Garrus came over and just hummed to himself.

It happened—Sapphire pulled out my gun and held it on me. I started panicking and held up my hands, though it was painfully obvious I was reaching for the dildo. It started escalating further, with Jaran continually saying "Wait for it", until the door opened again and I bashed Sapphire in the head a lot harder than I remembered. Jaran cheered; I blushed; Garrus laughed. She hit the ground like a brick and the video ended.

Jaran's mandibles fluttered as he tried to stifle his laughter. "I've watched this about nine times and it's funny every fucking time."

"Where'd you find this?" I hadn't seen a camera in the room. 'Course, I'd been fairly drunk and about to plough a blue alien, but I really should've paid more attention. It was some miracle the faces were blurred out.

Jaran's cigarette flared as he took a drag. "Garrus gave it to me."

"When I was going through Nehlon's computer," he said immediately, "I got access to the cameras and saw your . . . distraction effort. I redirected the feed to my tool and looped his copy." I raised my eyebrows. "It was to protect your cover, don't get any ideas."

"So you just gave out this sensitive footage to your friend for shits and giggles?"

"What was I supposed to do? Not share it?"

"Yes!"

"Relax," Jaran said. "They all think it's funny."

All of the Enforcers nodded or offered some form of agreement with various forms of laughter plastered on their faces. "You hit women with dildos like a champ, Shitface," a turian said, mandibles spread wide.

"Hey!" Jaran hissed. The guy flinched like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar and looked raptly at the floor. "Fucking kidding me. . . ."

"What'd he call me?"

Jaran growled and glared at the other turian. "Shitface. It's your, uh, nickname in the Enforcement department. Which was supposed to be a fucking secret."

"Really? What are you all, twelve?"

"Hey," a human with a patchy goatee said, "if you didn't walk around looking like a rape victim, the name wouldn't fit, would it?"

"It's just a name, Shitface," said a turian with elaborate white markings. "We all have nicknames."

"So? We're here to arrest some dangerous people and you're all standing out here with your dicks in your hands, laughing like fucking kids at stupid nicknames and idiotic videos."

The human with the goatee snorted. "Someone's got their tampon up the wrong hole."

"Hey, cuntrag, want me to bash your fucking teeth in?"

He stopped laughing and made an ugly face. "You want to run that by me again?"

"Why don't you come over here and I'll explain it real slow for you, dipshit."

The human cracked his knuckles and started stomping over to me but Jaran stepped in between us. "Calm down, both of you." We stared at each other over Jaran's shoulder. I had a very sadistic urge to stomp his skull into paste. "Look, Quinn, I'll delete the vid."

"Whatever, do what you want with it. I really don't care." I looked to the human. "I think it's time for you to go bro, the short bus is here."

"What'sa matter, _Shitface_?" the human sneered. "Too chickenshit to fight?"

Jaran turned on him. "You, shut the fuck up and get back to your spot."

"Oh what, are you taking his si—"

Jaran shoved him. "I said get the fuck back." The human went to challenge that order but Jaran, who was taller and had claws, held his ground and the guy rightly backed off. "Be civil," he looked to me, "both of you. Save the beatings for the people who deserve it."

The human glared at me, said something low and dirty and spat on the ground before sauntering back to his spot. All the other officers seemed fascinated by the ground and or their guns. Garrus was watching me with his arms crossed and I found that I couldn't look back at him. The dulled music covered the silence.

Jaran shifted his gaze between us, face rigid and hard. "Right, well, since we're all so eager to get started. . . ."

He turned to the other Enforcers. "So I'm hoping you were all at the briefing and know what to do—clear out all the civilians while Vakarian and, er, Quinn here can make the arrests and get all the fame. We got guys on the exits so don't worry about missing a few of 'em. And please do try not to kill any of them—it looks bad on the report. Everybody clear?" They nodded. "Alright, now get in fucking formation!"

It was like a switch was thrown. All the officers lost that cozy demeanor and became stiff and professional in a heartbeat, decompressing guns and donning serious expressions. They shuffled towards opposite sides of the door to breach and I managed to scramble into a small spot between Garrus and another turian. We were packed tighter than a drug mule's ass.

Garrus peered back to me. "Everything okay?"

I had to force myself to make eye contact. "Peachy. It's just nerves, you know?"

He nodded and turned back. I knew he wasn't satisfied but Garrus has always been good at keeping his mouth shut at the right times. It's a quality I wish I had.

Jaran, who was in the lead, held up a hand with all fingers extended.

Three.

Two.

One.

He bashed the door control and the officers swarmed in like medicine to a wound, disappearing in the stream of justice. I followed the fluid line, gun at the ready and held tightly, and dashed into the building, ready for all hell to collapse on top of me.

Despite it being my third time in this place, I was still thrown off by the pounding music and clashing lights. The place was as packed as ever, escapist patrons dancing and flirting and generally being burdens on society. A wave of surprise spread through them when they saw us, some holding up hands in shock, others just flat out bolting away. But most of the patrons were too absorbed with themselves to notice the armed police force entering the building. They kept right on with what they were doing. A little respect would've been nice.

"We need to turn off the music!" the asari officer yelled amongst the sound of sin.

"I got it!" Jaran extended out his arm in a "Heil Hitler" pose while keying up his tool. I was about to ask what he was doing, but out of his tool came a crackling electrical ball that slammed into a hanging speaker, making it sparkle and die faster than Poland. This produced a domino effect with them all, a visible blue current blitzkrieging through the wires and destroying everything in its path. The electronic tidal wave finally stopped. I almost lost my balance from the sudden loss of sound.

The crowd fell down from their high, gazing around wildly. A few of the oblivious people finally noticed us and started screaming, causing all the other people to do much of the same. They all herded away from us with their eyes wide and their palms out. Some people screamed and fled into the booths—a few dropped to their knees and started begging for their lives. By their reaction, you'd think we were running around wearing human skin and waving chainsaws at them.

Jaran took the lead. "Okay people, just make a nice orderly line out of here and nothing bad'll—" A beer can came soaring out of the pack, foam spilling in a beautiful spiral, and struck him clean in the face. Pretty good shot. He stumbled, rubbed his crest and growled. "It's times like this that we need police brutality. Everyone! Get the fuck out!"

Garrus tapped me on the shoulder. "There he is." He pointed up at Nehlon's office window. And sure enough, there was the man himself, staring down at the commotion below. We locked eyes for just a moment before he dashed out of sight.

It's go time motherfucker.

Garrus took off running—he did it so abruptly that it took me a few seconds to register it and run after him. Luckily, the civilians were just as much an obstacle here as they were at the market. I caught up with him easily. Here, though, they were more violent. Many scowled and muttered swears at us. One batarian shoved Garrus as he went, nearly knocking him over. Another batarian stood up from behind the bar and hurled a bottle at my head—I ducked it and waved my pistol in his direction, making him cower. Hitting that door was a relief.

The hallway of sex was crowded with patrons. They'd all come out to see what was going on, most undressed and in various states of arousal. Two human guys came out of the same room at full-mast. Another asari came out with her, uh, mammaries glowing bright blue. Garrus and I squeezed through the slippery people—seriously, they were slippery—and they watched us go. Some even wrapped arms around their bed partners to protect them.

Then it happened. A batarian popped out of one of the rooms, a shotgun in his hands and a snarl on his face. I didn't move in time—I panicked and tripped over my feet. The shotgun came over my chest. A gunshot exploded next to me. The batarian yelled. He stumbled and fired into the wall. Another shot. The batarian's head jerked back and red blood splattered on the wall. He slumped to the ground as everyone started screaming.

Garrus started running again. People were now scooting and diving out of his way. I took a look at him and the batarian, whose blood had left a wet rainbow on the wall. I held out a hand, wanting to help the dead batarian who had just tried to kill me. It was instinct and I knew it was useless when I saw the entry wound in his forehead leaking blood. Everyone was cowering and staring at me like I might kill them at any moment. Like I was a monster.

I left the dead man on the floor and ran after Garrus. None of the civilians bothered me.

We turned around the corner and went up the stairs three at a time. It was a simple dash forward and we both slammed out backs against the door, pistols ready. He looked to me. I nodded. He hit the door control button. We charged in.

And it was to my great displeasure to find that the office was empty.

I swiveled to check the corners, but they were empty too. Garrus jogged over to Nehlon's desk and checked under it, but found nothing. There was nowhere in this room that a turian could reasonably hide, no nooks or crannies or anything.

Nehlon was gone.

"Fuck!"

"Has anyone tried to leave the building?" Garrus asked over the radio, much calmer than me.

"Negative," came the flanged reply. "It's been quiet out here."

"Same."

"Ditto."

"Goddamnit!" I kicked the desk, making the computer and lamp shake.

_Ever the professional._

"He may be hiding in one of the rooms," said Garrus, jogging over to the wall window and looking down on the floor.

I ran a hand through my hair, nearly pulling out the roots. "How? We'd have seen him!"

"We can worry about that later. Check his computer, I'll search the rooms."

I clenched my shaking fist. "Fuck, fine. Go."

He glanced down through the window again. "Tell me what you find." He pivoted around and jogged out the corridor with his pistol raised over his head. If Garrus found Nehlon, he'd probably shoot first and forget to ask any questions. I wouldn't feel too bad.

The computer was unlocked. Guess Nehlon had been too busy shitting himself to lock it. I navigated through the home interface, clicking on random files that popped out. Most were just club records: revenue, import costs on drinks, salaries for employees, stuff like that. I slashed out of those and opened another file. An album of pictures filled the screen, pictures of Nehlon holding what looked like two deformed cat-birds. In other words, his kids. How sweet. Extranet history revealed nothing, though it did show Nehlon had a penchant for quarians. "SexyQuariansRUs" was a little hard to misinterpret.

I stood up. I couldn't sit still. Adrenaline was making me hyper and Nehlon's Houdini act had squirted some fear into the cauldron of hormones. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like my carotid artery was trying to beat my windpipe to death. I was replaying that batarian's death over and over in my head, thinking about how easily I could've died by not reacting in time. One eye was perpetually cocked at the door lest any more of his buddies decided to show up.

I glanced around. The bookshelves, colorful art, and lack of personal items were still the same. Nehlon's office, also known as the villain's lair, didn't look like a villain's lair. It just looked like a normal Citadel office for someone with crappy tastes. I mean, really, abstract art? How passé. Seriously, at least get some Baroque up in here. Bitches be digging that shit.

Although…

I went over to the painting on the wall and examined it for a bit, trying to feel intellectual. I hooked both hands behind the frame and pulled it from the wall. There was only smooth metal behind it.

_You're a fucking idiot._

Something grumbled out of me and I threw the painting at the wall, shattering the frame. Feeling jittery and paranoid that Nehlon was hiding somewhere, I started tearing apart his office. I flung all the datapads out of his bookcase and then tipped it over. All the cabinets were rifled through, their contents dumped and the drawers thrown away. Everything on the wall that could be ripped off was ripped off. I even upended some of the potted plants, scattering dirt everywhere and smashing the pots against the wall. It was hard to say whether I was doing this to find evidence or to simply destroy Nehlon's stuff, but I was definitely enjoying it.

When I was done, the entire office floor was covered in overturned furniture, broken paintings, datapads and uprooted plants. I flopped down in Nehlon's seat and went rummaging through the drawers in his desk—yanking out the drawers, dumping and scanning through the contents, and tossing the drawers across the room. It was all financial records—all the datapads I'd gone through had been revenue and business expenses for Tartarus. No drugs, no connection with Jilla. And, more importantly, no Amok. My one chance was slipping through my fingers.

I sat there for a little while, rubbing my unshaven face and fuming. I could hear the people on the dancefloor yelling at the Enforcers and generally being terrible people. The lamp on his desk mocked me in its silent and inanimate way. I smacked it away and felt better when it exploded on the ground.

My second search through his computer didn't turn up anything new. I dug a little deeper into his revenue charts and noticed a few incongruities—unexplained profits, odd "donations" to shady-looking people—but it was nothing a good lawyer couldn't get him out of. I checked his email, but he'd wiped everything on it. There was nothing incriminating on here. At that moment, I really missed physical monitors. Swearing like a lunatic at a hologram just doesn't feel the same.

Then I found a file, buried pretty deep. It was unmarked and completely mundane looking. I clicked on it and a locked screen came up.

A password. I needed a password.

Working on overtime, I typed in his name. Nothing. I tried Amok's name. Nothing. I went back and found his kid's names, then tried those. Still nothing. I typed in all the names of his donators, a list of over fifteen people, and still got nothing. I tried Palaven and all the turian colonies I could remember. Nothing. I even tried the artist of the painting I'd ruined and ground my teeth when that didn't work. This file wasn't opening.

I stared at it for a while, fighting the urge to punch something. What could the password be? I ran a hand through my hair—there seemed to be an hourglass hanging over my head that was becoming too bottom heavy. Every moment I wasted could be the difference between Nehlon in a cell or a shuttle to Omega. I felt like Atlas with the world on his shoulders.

Wait. Atlas. Tartarus. Greek mythology.

I tried Tartarus and got another failure. Prometheus and Hyperion got the same result, as did most of the Titans. I started typing every single Greek god I could remember—Zeus, Aphrodite, Apollo, Poseidon, Hades, Dionysus, Hermes. I even tried their Roman counterparts. Nothing worked. This file wouldn't fucking open.

I was about to give up when a miracle happened. I tried Cronus, he who spawned the furies. The file unlocked.

And the floor started opening with a mechanical hum.

"Shit!" You ever get so shocked you lean back too far in your seat and tip over? I did that. My head hit the floor, I swore, kicked the desk, swore some more, and scrambled for my gun. A section of the floor was receding, in about the size of a refrigerator, perpendicular to the desk. A panel was moving back towards the wall, away from the giant window. I gaped and aimed my gun, half worried that I'd just opened a portal to Hell.

It stopped, revealing a staircase descending down into… something. I walked around the new hole in the floor, watching it, studying it. Now that it was open, I could hear a thrumming noise, like a rhythmic machine. I paused at the top of the stairway, peering down. The steps went down pretty far, as far as I could see. The path had no light of its own and it curved to the right a good ways down.

Now this is some freaky shit.

_Guess Nehlon really is a Bond villain after all. Go figure._

I need to tell the others. I made a move to activate my radio, but a piercing scream came rushing through the stairway and cut off any movement. I stared down into Neverland, gun poorly aimed, breath caught somewhere in my throat. It was a women screaming bloody murder, the kind of screaming you do when you're in mortal danger. Or agony. I stood at the threshold, debating what to do.

The scream stopped. I made my decision.

Without true thought or caution, I ran down the stairs, two at a time, trying my best to maintain my sights on the twist. With every step, the air got thicker. More electric and alive. There was a nagging undertone to it too, a reeking smell of ozone lurking just beyond unpleasant. The air tasted deadly, a pollution filled mess that burned my lungs further and further. It was dark here too; the light-starved walls seemed to lean over me, ready to smother me on a whim. The confined space amplified the low pulse of something mechanical below.

I turned the bend while hugging the wall. I saw the end of the stairs, which fed out to a better lit hallway below. I should've called for backup. I know that now, but you don't think about things when they happen. You just try to pass through the shitstorm unscathed. Adrenaline, idiocy, misguided chivalry; pick your handicap. I could understand why people act so stupid in horror movies; it's hard to think straight when you've got your balls on the chopping board.

I paused at the bottom, briefly. Then I stepped out into hell.

Despite the low orange lighting, I could make out a lot of details. It was a single room, long but low, extending back about three quarters of an American football field. Machines were everywhere, lining the floor and walls, packed tight and rusted. They hummed, thrummed, groaned, shifted—whichever movement you could think of, really. They were monstrous things, large and rusty, churning and oscillating at odd rhythms, looking like torture devices straight out of Satan's bedroom. But what most caught my attention was the raw element zero of to the left side; there was mounds of the stuff, in barrels and such, glowing in the gritty light. Unshielded eezo; that's a mutation waiting to happen. Ionizing radiation is generally not a good thing.

Near the center of the room, though, was the main attraction. Nehlon's personal gorillas, who had been decidedly absent on our entrance, were herding a group of people into the center with various automatic weapons. But not just any group of people; they were gaunt, to the point of starving, with filthy rags hanging off them. It was an even mix of species: human, asari, turian, salarian, and a few batarians. They were all scared, some crying and begging, others just accepting the guns in their face.

And, to top off this whole fucked up show, a certain batarian was standing not too far with his back to me, ordering the clowns around.

"Hurry up! We need them pacified!" That was Amok; my gut told me so. My fingers tightened on my gun. He was right there, defenseless, unaware of me. Everything else just faded away; all I saw at that moment was Amok.

"And turn the machines off! Now!" My teeth ground at his voice. My knuckles were a snow white.

What I did next will certainly go down in history as the worst tactical mistake ever.

I came out of the stairway on my haunches, ready to dive or shoot if someone saw me. Amok didn't move as I got closer. I bite my lip not to cough; the air was almost unbearable down here and some of the guards were wearing masks to compensate. He kept barking orders with his back to me, and with each word I came closer to pulling the trigger and taking my chances. I stopped behind him and stood up.

Then I put my gun to his head.

"Well, well, well," I said, drawing it out. "Amok'Tesh. How ya been, buddy?"

He stiffened for a few seconds—then his hands came up. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you." I rubbed the barrel on his wrinkly head. "Yeah, I know you pretty well."

He made a noise halfway between a snort and a growl. "Should I be honored?"

"Uh, yeah. Do you know what I've gone through to find you?" I looked over at the guards who were busy "calming" a human woman with their guns. The full stupidity of what I was doing hit me a little too hard. "You're coming with me. Move it."

"I don't think so." He swiveled around, making me panic and take a step back. His back left eye was scarred shut, a jagged marble line raking across it. He smiled at me, revealing some shark teeth. "I'm just going about my business, officer."

"Take another step and I'll blow your fucking head off." I braced my arm and tried to look menacing. I felt like a little kid playing with the big boys. "And what's your business? Slavery? Drug trafficking? You're a fucking monster, asshole. Don't try to deny it."

The laugh that came out of him sounded straight from the seventh circle of hell. "Red sand is legal all over the galaxy and slavery is part of my culture, human." He jabbed a finger at me. "You're the one pointing the gun."

There was another scream off to my right which was silenced by a wet thud. "Yeah, well, it's illegal here, fuckface. Learn the rules."

His eyes flicked to my left briefly. "Who says your laws are better than mine?"

"We do." I motioned with the pistol. "Now move, shitbird, and I might decide not to—"

"You're here for Jilla, aren't you?" he asked suddenly. "Right?"

I hesitated—then made the wrong decision. "Yeah. Why?"

He smiled again and I swear there was a blood-red tinge to his teeth. "I killed her. Shot her, beat her, raped her—everything your laws tell me not to do." The smile widened. "How does that make you feel?"

My head swam—of everything I'd imagined our confrontation to be like, this was definitely not it. "Why'd you do it?"

He shrugged, the smile growing more sinister. "Who knows? Maybe she escaped. Maybe she was a parasite and I was doing a favor to the galaxy. Maybe I just like killing people. Does it really matter to you?"

"Why in the alley, though? Why not here?"

"There are over forty murders in this neighborhood every week. No one's going to think much of some young asari showing up with a bullet in her head."

"If you honestly believe that, you're a fucking idiot."

He laughed. "It did take you assaulting one of our customers to find me. Tell me, was it necessary to shoot your way through that market?"

A hot breath wriggled its way out. "That's it, bro—you're getting a rapist as a cell partner. Start walking."

He shook his head. "Sorry, maybe later."

There was a click at my left ear.

"Put the gun down Investigator." Nehlon. For a moment, my brain locked up and I didn't know at all what to do. Then I felt something metallic press against my temple. "If you want to keep your brain inside your body, drop your gun."

I glared at Amok. He had kept me talking. Distracted. At that moment, I seriously contemplated shooting him and forfeiting my life. My finger tightened on the trigger but some meddling survival instinct stopped me.

The metal pressed harder into my head. "Now, Investigator."

My hand opened on its own and the gun fell out, clattering on the ground. Amok bent down and picked it up, relishing every moment. I turned my head just enough to see Nehlon. His face was blank.

"Next time," Amok said, turning my gun over in his hands, "when you have a gun to someone's head? Make sure you shoot."

"Go help them," Nehlon said. Amok nodded, stole a smug grin my way, and jogged off with my gun. Motherfucker. . . .

"So," I said, "this the part where you tell me your motive? Why you did all this?"

A silent snort escaped him. "You watch too many vids."

I stared at the miserable forms cowering on the floor, dirty and scarred and malnourished, clinging to life. "I have friends upstairs. You shoot me, they'll come down and fuck you over."

This gave him more than a pause; his eyes widened and his mandibles went slack on his face. "The door, damnit, you opened the doo—"

A gunshot started the shitstorm.

Nehlon's head jerked to the side and he began performing a morbid ballerina dance on his failing limbs. His head flailed and I saw a large entry wound where his eye should've been. His disfigured face watched me for a moment before it sunk and hit the floor with a final thud.

The guards started shouting and I looked up in time to see them all level some very deadly weapons in my general direction.

They opened fire.

My legs buckled underneath me and I smacked the ground as a speeding mass of death zoomed over me. I couldn't see the bullets—not all rounds were tracers—but I could see the air distort in their wake. I crawled, hands and elbows and knees, to the nearest machine, a thick mixer that looked like a perfect bullet sponge. Each thunderous crack pounded against my head and my heart clenched from expecting so many incoming wounds. I fell against the machine as lead hail started raining down. I clutched my ears and begged an unknown deity for my life.

Someone fell against the machine next to me. I jumped and made to lash out, but it was just Garrus, my impromptu savior. He said something, but I couldn't hear him over the gunfire. I just stared back, the gunfire now hammering our position against the machine. He seemed to get that I didn't understand and just pointed over my shoulder. I looked over; he was pointing at Nehlon's body. I looked back and this time he tapped his own gun with a talon.

He wanted me to grab Nehlon's gun.

My eyes widened and I shook my head. He lifted his pistol over the cover and started blindfiring, all while saying something else. I caught it this time; "I'll cover you!" I peeked out just enough to get a glimpse of the battlefield. I only kept it out for a second, noting only two apes with assault rifles, before an invisible bullet hit my shields. The sudden blue forced me out of balance and I fell on to my side, my top half out of cover. I scrambled back wildly, feeling another "hit" at my shoulder.

Yeah, no, fuck that.

Garrus tapped me on the shoulder. "Ready?"

"Fuck no!"

There was a temporary lull in the onslaught of noise; their weapons must've overheated. Garrus, without hesitation, came up and started firing, face set and arms steady. I stared for a moment before turning my gaze to Nehlon's corpse. Another second of hesitation. The deafening bangs of Garrus' gun pounded my head. All I could think about was how painful getting shot would be.

I made my move.

I dove out and scampered for Nehlon. The hand with his gun was starting to soak in the growing blood pool and coated my hands when I picked it up. I tried to wretch the gun free but his talons were latched on to it. In sheer desperation, I kicked down on his head while pulling his arm. He held on tight. I pried open his limp digits like a madman and flung his arm away when I got my blood prize. A bullet hit my shield around the neck and I panicked, falling on my back and partially crabwalking back to cover. Another round hit my thigh and this time my shielding cracked and sputtered. Garrus reached out a hand and I pulled myself in, nearly piling on top of him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

There was a salvo of fire and Jaran sprinted forward, firing from the hip, and dove expertly against an opposite conveyor belt. Two more officers followed, a turian and human, doing much of the same as Jaran. But bullets tore through the turian's shields and his leg buckled inwards. He collapsed, writhing on the floor, until the human officer reached out and pulled him to cover.

"Returning fire may be a good idea!" Garrus yelled in my ear.

With C-Sec officers now pouring through our highway to hell, the oncoming fire was lessening. The ear-splitting gunshots were more focused on our side now, as we got properly prepared. I glanced down at my shield generator thing. Shields at thirty percent and charging. I'll be ready to become a target soon.

An asari slave came racing past me, nearly making me fire at her. She was making for the stairway to heaven. A salvo, almost lost to the raging clusterfuck, rang out and she collapsed with a few new holes in her spine. Something exploded over my head; a snaking pipe had ruptured and was belching out fire like a chemical dragon. Jaran stood up and sprayed the other side of the room with liberal abandon, yelling at the top of his lungs. An asari officer crashed down between Garrus and I, already blindfiring her submachine gun.

This all happened in the space of a few seconds.

"Move up!"

Garrus and the asari both leaped over our cover, firing as they went. I hesitated, then followed. Or I tried to. The machine was too high and I went to hook a leg over it. I got my torso over when a bullet hit me in the face. The shield stopped it but it made me lose my balance and fall back to where I started. A few bullets hit the machine and I scrambled away to a more solid part of it.

Everything was happening too fast. Bullets tore into the machines all around me. Pipes ruptured and spurted out chains of fire. Something exploded near the back. The shockwave slapped me and flaming shrapnel rained down everywhere. The screams of the slaves and the gunshot retorts blended together into one protracted explosion of sound. Machines kept humming their low bass line to it all.

I decided to help. I crawled forward and poked my head out.

A lot happened all at once.

To my left near the back, a batarian was firing behind a rectangular machine. Jaran sprayed it with bullets and steam hissed out, cooking the batarian's face and sending him screaming to the floor. More near the center, the krogan door-guard was firing wildly with his Scimitar, suppressing two officers. Next to him, a turian came out of cover with an assault rifle. A bullet caught him in the throat—he dropped the gun and grabbed his neck, gurgled for a few moments, and crumpled. The right half of the back room was completely on fire—two dead batarians laid next to the flaming wreckage of a machine and another turian was entombed in fire, flailing and screaming. A clean shot from Garrus ended his pain.

Meanwhile, all the slaves were ducking down on the floor right in the middle of the chaos. It was some miracle that they weren't all dead yet.

I brought my pistol up and started firing at the krogan. Shots one, two and three missed their mark by a wide margin. Shots four and five hit the row of vertical pipes he was hiding behind, creating more hissing steam. Shot six had an interesting effect—I didn't see exactly where it hit, but a dark-red dust cloud burst out next to him and shot out into a tornado from a cooling fan. He coughed and stumbled out of cover, right into the path of a fire snake spewing from a pipe. His flesh caught instantly and he started roaring so loud that it dwarfed the gunfire, beating himself silly while his skin melted. The officers fired on him. He twisted and jerked, orange blood squirting everywhere and the back of the wall denting with bullets. In one last effort, he croaked and tried to aim his shotgun but it slipped from his hand. He followed it and hit the floor in a blazing mess of gore.

A weird tranquility filled the room, shattered only by the crackling flames, the hum of the machines, and the whimpering of the slaves. And the dead bodies. I snapped my sights everywhere, but nothing moved. All the guards were down for the count.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. How am I still alive?

"Move!" Jaran sprinted towards the slaves, hopping over the burnt krogan. "Get them the fuck outta here!"

"What's the problem?" I asked, standing up. I regretted that; a blood rush hit me and I had to steady myself on the machine. "They're all dead, bro."

Jaran bent down and tried picking up an asari slave, who panicked and batted away his hands. He kept trying, regardless. "That's the fucking problem!" He jabbed a hand to the left side of the room. And I saw what he meant. That side of the room was ablaze, the fires corrupting the corrupted air with smoke. Smack dab in the middle of the inferno was the cluster of eezo I'd seen earlier, the ocean blue contrasted elegantly with the vicious orange.

In other words, the highly combustible element zero was in the middle of a raging ignition source.

"Oh fuck, go, go!" All the currently living members of the room raced over to the pile of miserable souls, who were just now lifting their heads cautiously. Each officer grabbed a victim, some more than others; I picked up a gaunt turian with missing plates and a balding human women, while Jaran and Garrus both shouldered a few humans and batarians. Many of the slaves, seeing their masters' blood decorate the floor, decided this was their chance; a good chunk of them simply bolted towards the door without a glance back. Some even stopped to help their less able-bodied brethren, pulling them up even though they had a hard time standing.

The exodus was under way; we all filed out, backs to the carnage, human and aliens all united in their singular effort to get the fuck out of Dodge. The room was, as I said, fucked; the fires were consuming the machines and flesh, charring steel and bone. Smoke was stacking up and watering the eyes. All that could be heard was the inferno and ragged grunts. The whole place looked like Tartarus. The name is rather fitting, now that I think about it.

I was at the bottom of the stairs bringing up the pack when I heard a weak voice call out behind me.

"Help. . . ."

I craned my head and squinted into the room; the dazzling flames obscured a good deal of it. But, just visible near the back, was the outline of a turian, apparently unable to move.

Goddamnit.

I released the turian and woman human, who gave me a curious look. "Can you make it out on your own?" They nodded. "Good, go. I'll catch up." They didn't move. "Go!" The human woman, taking the hint, pulled the turian's arm over her shoulder and set off. I turned back into hell.

The saintly sprint back to the downed turian was torturous; the room's temperature was climbing steadily in degrees and I couldn't for the life of me stop coughing. The smoke also obscured damn near everything, making me bash my shins on more than a few machines and creating a forest of milky shadows. Somewhere a batarian was moaning and calling out for help in a voice clogged with blood. I couldn't help him. At least that's what I told myself. On a more positive note, his agonized screaming helped guide me through the room.

My situation went from nightmare to ultra-impossible difficulty when I reached my princess. The turian in question had a nasty bullet wound; his thigh was leaking blue blood like a bad levee. No way was he walking out on that thing. But there was something odd about him. His three horns were missing; instead they stopped near the crest, leaving the head bald. The mouth was different too. It was square, along with a sleeker set of mandibles that hooked outside the face. The whole face just looked more… feminine.

A female turian?

_Move!_

Without bothering to be gentle, I grabbed one of her arms and hauled her to her feet. She cried out and leaned her full weight off her leg and on to me. Fair enough.

I had just turned around when a bullet caught me in the chest.

I don't even know what happened; one second I was on my feet and the next I was pinwheeling backwards, feeling like someone had just punched me in the diaphragm. I let go of the turian and she disappeared. I hit the ground and struggled to catch my breath through the acrid smoke.

Amok was standing over me, his body charred and his eyes sneering at me. With the fires burning brightly behind him, he looked like a demon straight from hell, ready to drag me to the real Tartarus. And to do this task was my gun aimed squarely at my head.

"Say hi to Jilla for me."

The female turian threw herself at Amok, screaming bloody murder and clawing with extreme prejudice. Amok backhanded her with the gun. She fell back next to me, moaning and writhing on the floor. He leveled the gun on her instead while snarling like a monster.

Instinct took over. I found Nehlon's pistol at my hip and fired without aiming. Amok stopped and the world stopped with him. He coughed and put a hand to his chest, where a wet circle was forming. Disbelief etched itself all over his ugly face. A guttural groan escaped him and he started aiming again. I pulled the trigger as fast my finger would let me. Amok shuddered as lead justice tore his vital organs to shreds, breaking bones and slicing muscle. He stayed on his feet for a moment, refusing to die. Then my gun slipped out of his hands and he crumpled to the floor.

I couldn't relish the moment; shit was about to hit the explosive fan. I bounced to my feet and pulled up the mythical female turian. I threw her over my shoulder and ran. The turian's talons flayed my back as she held on amongst the inferno. Shapes blurred as I went, turning into muddy demons and horrible devices. I got so focused I almost tripped over Nehlon's body—I stepped on his empty hand and almost ate flaming shit. But dogged determination kept me upright and I made it to the stairway, taking the stairs three at a time and struggling to keep a hold on my prize.

Adrenaline is a hell of a hormone. My lungs burned from the acidic air, I probably had a broken rib or a punctured lung, and the female alien on my shoulder was dragging me down. But, despite all that, I ran like the devil was going to shove his pitchfork up my ass. Each step was agony, but I kept going forward, feeling sweet life come closer and closer. The turn came and went; I saw the light of the office. I lost myself—everything in existence was gone, except for the looming light and my own stubborn desire to save my damsel.

Nehlon's glass window stood above me as I hit the top of stairs. Not slowing down at all, I fired at the window. It sprinkled and cracked into a crinkled sheet of diamonds. I leaned my head down and smashed through the weakened glass with my shoulder, jumping as far as I could.

For a split second, gravity was halted and my mind mapped out every little detail of my situation—the shards of glass dancing in the air around me, the swirling neon lights of the club, my turian damsel screaming very loudly into my ear, and my own realization that the ground floor was a lot higher up than I had thought. Time hit us like a cruel bitch and we plummeted out of the air. I braced and smacked the reinforced dance floor on my side, my head slamming into the ground so hard it actually bounced. To top it all off the turian somehow managed to let a flying knee piledrive me in the chest, forcing out the last of my breath.

My turian lady let up with a fresh batch of screaming—out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a distended bone sticking out of her leg—but I covered my ears, waiting for the mother of all explosions to vaporize me. Time to die.

Nothing happened.

I kept on waiting for the end, but nothing kept happening. And soon more nothing happened, piled on with more and more nothing, with another hefty helping of nothing. A terrifying silence settled in. Bracing myself, I started climbing to my feet, grunting and swearing the whole way. I stood up and glass fragments nestled in my clothes tumbled off. I looked up at Nehlon's fractured window. Nothing was happening.

"Shouldn't that've explo—"

A cataclysmic shockwave tore through the nightclub; lights shattered spectacularly, the building shook on its foundations, and my organs quivered inside my body. I was knocked off my feet. Then came a deep rushing noise and a blue fireball erupted out of the stairway, engulfing the office and sucking the oxygen from the air. Flaming shrapnel flew everywhere, judgment passed down from an angry god, and serpent cracks slithered along the walls at record speeds. I was insta-cooked—my skin was scorched within seconds and the fireball seemed to reach down to grab me, the burning wall of destruction trying to swallow me whole. It stopped, close enough to incinerate me, and then crumpled into itself, folding and folding back like a molten blanket. I was barely spared from its wrath.

I laid there for a while, my head throbbing and my chest stabbing with pain after every breath. I was seeing more colors than a kaleidoscope; reality itself changed, shapes were distorted and stretched as the flamboyant streaks of color flickered around me. My head felt like it was on fire, the ceiling actually was on fire, and the turian lady next to me was screaming like she was on fire. I could feel blood drain from a few spots around my body. I'd cut myself on the glass.

The fire alarm came on with no warning. There was a whining blare and dirty brown water rained down, smelling of rust and grime. I spluttered and choked as some of it got in my mouth.

I got to my feet slowly, methodically; the loud-ass explosion had disrupted my inner-ear fluid and shot my balance to shit. When I actually got to my feet, my headache flared. The lights lost their borders, bleeding together into abstract colors and roaring movement. I shook my head—probably the stupidest thing for someone with a concussion to do—and held out a hand to the turian on the floor. "Come on, we need to move."

She hesitated and glanced down at her leg, which was thickly coated in blue blood. Despite this, she took my hand, her bare talons slashing my skin, and I made sure to pull her up as gently as possible. When she was up, having only gasped in horrible pain a few times, I wrapped her arm around my shoulder and she leaned most of her weight into me. I couldn't help but notice the strange coarseness of her skin. It felt like smooth tree bark.

I took one last look at where Nehlon's office used to be, the entire thing scorched darker than pitch with a few sea blue fires being beaten down by the rusty rain. Then I turned and started stumbling towards the exit with my precious cargo in check and my job officially accomplished.

**14:82, GST**

The ambulances came right away.

The sky darkened with the rushing shuttles and emergency vehicles. Meanwhile, the parking lot outside Tartarus was a hectic zoo—the slaves we'd liberated were cheering, moaning, yelling, making all sorts of noises at the sky that must've looked incredibly beautiful to them. Many of them latched onto officers and started bawling their eyes out, pure emotion overloading them. Others just collapsed to the ground and held this cautionary optimism on their soot-covered faces like they were trying to smile but had completely forgotten how. Then there were those were so malnourished and stubbornly clinging to life that they were probably on good speaking terms with St. Peter—they just hung on to the more healthy ones and nodded with a vacant stare when people asked if they were okay. It was a crazy, clustered mess, but the officers somehow managed to herd everyone together and keep a relative peace.

Once the ambulances actually touched ground and all the peripheral medicine and suturing had been done, they were all promptly taken to be hospitalized. There was too much risk talking to these people right away—they probably had hematoma, respiratory infections, dysentery, unset broken bones, all sorts of vitamin deficiencies, etcetera. It was safer to get them all out now before they all keeled over from a stray cough or gust of wind. Hopefully they wouldn't run away before we could figure out why the hell they were down there.

I was sitting on the back of one of the skycars parked outside Tartarus, left here by one of the patrons. I'd been forcibly sutured and bandaged—I had kept telling them to help the slaves first, to get to the people who actually needed help. They'd persisted and eventually I'd relented. Aside from a few painful burn splotches from the shrapnel and a relatively minor concussion, I was fine. Well, not "fine" exactly—I felt like I'd been through a goddamn war. But I wasn't going to die and I guess that was the important thing.

Behind me, there was the rapid swooshes of ambulances flying away and the intermittent crash and grunts of Enforcers trying to quarantine the smoking Tartarus. I could barely hear it—everything sounded like it was coming from a TV in a different room, all distant and muffled. Sneaky slivers of color and distortion kept snaking through my vision like angry ghosts. I was drifting in and out of reality. I'd close my eyes and briefly lose myself in some other life. Then I'd open my eyes, remember where I was, and feel that little pinprick of pain in my gut grow a little wider. It was a bad cycle.

Was I supposed to be feeling happy right now? I'd found the killer and taken down a drug ring all while outrunning an explosion. I'd released a group of slaves and gave them a new chance at life. This is textbook hero shit right here. Where's the feeling of glory? Of pride or honor or fucking anything? Why don't I feel better?

I looked down at my hands, covered in dirt and bruises. The hands that had killed a man. I balled and uncurled them, over and over again, watching the joints. I threw them away in disgust and lifted my head to watch the Serpent Nebula. Decadent clouds of dust, glowing waves of radiation, and a belittling spectacle of distant galaxies and nebulae bleed together into a director's wet dream. I stared at this picture of unfathomable beauty and felt small, ugly, insignificant and worthless. I wanted to fade away.

"Hello?"

I snapped to the words. It was the female turian I'd dragged out of Tartarus, wearing some dirty rags and a soaked bandage on her thigh. She looked . . . weird. Nothing like I thought female turians would look like. There was no fringe and the plates were all wavy with these deep-set eyes under them. Her mandibles also stuck out like shark teeth on the back of her cheeks and her chin was disturbingly human. Goddamnit Bioware, you fucked up again.

"Yeah?"

She tilted her head. "Are you okay?"

I looked away. "I'm fine." There was an awkward silence. "Shouldn't you be going to a hospital?"

Now it was her time to gaze dramatically off into the distance. "I think it'd be better if no one knew I was here today."

"You know you're talking to a cop, right?"

"I do." She let out a small smile. "I wanted to say thanks for what you did." She glanced back at the last of the ambulances speeding away. "I know no one here will forget it."

"De nada." I rubbed my face—as my fingers pulled across my skin, I felt like ripping the flesh off.

"Nothing? Running back into a burning building to save me was nothing?"

"Fine, you're welcome. That better?"

I felt her stare on me. "Are you sure you're okay?"

A half-snort wriggled its way out of me. "I'm not the one with a hole in my leg."

"This? I've had worse. Try taking a buckshot to the hip some time—that's real pain."

"I'll be sure to do that."

More silence. She shifted on her feet and let out a soft laugh that startled me. "And here I thought humans couldn't stop talking."

"I like to prove people wrong." I lowered my eyes and sighed. "Look, I don't want to sound rude Ms. . . ?"

"Call me Devon."

Devon? "Right, Devon, I don't mean to be rude here, but I'd really like to be alone right now, if you catch my drift."

"Sure, I understand Mr. . . ?"

"Quinn."

She smiled again and I'd be lying if I said there wasn't some sort of cuteness there. "Okay, Quinn." She paused. "This was your first time wasn't it? Killing someone?"

I nodded.

"Well, you picked a good first—Amok was an asshole. Mine was some salarian, a ricocheted bullet that hit an artery. So undramatic."

"Do you want me to arrest you?"

"Not particularly. I'll just show myself out." She started walking—er, limping—away, but stopped after a few feet and smiled at me. "Thanks again, Quinn. I owe you my life."

She made off towards the thick cluster of ruined buildings with the glowing light of space shining down on her. I knew I should've at least questioned her a bit more, but I couldn't be bothered to right now. Besides, this was a complete redemption for her; the slate should be wiped clean here. I'd hate to work so hard to save someone to watch them rot in a cell.

As I watched her go, her body enveloped in dirt, blood and soft extravagance, I felt a little warm pit in my stomach start to grow. It was subtle at first, but the more I watched this girl walk away the more prominent it became. I couldn't place it—it felt like a watered-down mixture of pride and happiness with a dash of sympathy. My muscles, taut and painful, relaxed as the feeling diffused across me. It was intoxicating. I closed my eyes to relish it.

You know, maybe I've—

"Quinn."

Garrus came walking around and sat on the back next to me. Aside from that bullet hole in his chest, he looked fine and lizard-y as ever. That pissed me off—here I was looking like shit warmed over while he was spotless. He let out a tired sigh and scratched the back of his fringe before turning to me. "Not bad for your first case, huh?"

I took a look back at the flaming building behind me. "Yeah, it was pretty fun—in a fucking terrible, sick, not-fun-at-all kinda way."

"At least it's better than tracking down tax dodgers on the Presidium. More intrigue."

"If you say so."

It was over. It felt I'd been involved in this thing for years, but it'd been a day and a half. I guess time flies when you're not having fun. But some nagging thought rose up in my mind and I couldn't put it to rest. "Do you think we did good today, Garrus?"

He appraised me and I held a solid gaze on him. Those deep blue eyes of his seemed to go through me. "I'd say so. We shut down a drug ring and freed a lot of slaves. Though I'm sure Pallin will find some way to turn this on us."

"Well, we did blow up a building."

"Details, details."

More silence piled on between us. I don't think there was much else that needed to be said. I couldn't take it for long and jumped off the car. "If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna find somewhere to sleep and never wake up again."

"Hold on there Shitface!" Jaran sauntered over with a wide grin. "Where do you think you're going?"

I wanted to say home but, well, I didn't have a home so I settled on, "Somewhere."

He laughed for no reason. He seemed in a disturbingly good mood considering what had just happened. "Ya see Shitface—I can call you Shitface, right?"

"Sure."

"Good. Now, Shitface, Garrus and I," he wrapped an arm around Garrus, who tried to shrug it off, "were going to go get raging drunk to celebrate a job well done and we would be delighted if you could come."

Garrus looked up. "We would?"

"Yes, we would."

He coughed. "I mean, uh, yes we would."

I didn't know what to say. "You want to drink with me?"

"Sure! You seem like an interesting person with your dildo fighting and damsel rescuing. And it'll be nice talking to someone other than Princess Vakarian here."

I thought about it. At the moment I wanted to be alone and brood about things. But, then again, misery loves company and drowning my sorrows is the best thing to do, right? "Uh, alright. When?"

"Ah, don't worry about that Shitface, I'll call you. We're gonna have a grand ol' time, the three of us."

"I think I saw a hanar preaching Jaran, why don't you go deal with that?" Garrus asked. Jaran laughed with more sarcasm than I could hope to achieve. "Do you want a ride, Quinn?"

"Nah, I think I'll walk. See you guys later."

They exchanged a glance but didn't say anything. I started walking in a random direction. It might've been smart to get a ride from Garrus or hail a cab, but I wanted to walk. Clear my head, take in inventory. Maybe the smell of burning trash and drug use will make me feel better. I don't know, it's what I always did back on Earth when I had something to think about.

A crowd of people had gathered at the threshold of the neighborhood, staring and gaping at their favorite pisshole belching smoke. The smell was enough to crack paint. They cleared a path for me a little too quickly and I got some very ugly looks as I passed by. I was too happy that I was leaving this place to really notice.

You know, maybe I've been looking at this situation the wrong way. This whole time I've been complaining about everything that's happened to me, how my life's been all flip-turned upside-down and gone to shit. I still think that was a pretty reasonable course of action, but it's not the right one. I can blame others all I want, but, at a certain point, I only have me to blame for not making the most out of this. Not having a choice is not an excuse for letting an opportunity go to waste. And this is really more of a second chance than a curse.

Heroes don't worry about themselves—they don't cry and bitch and moan about how unfair life is or how they just want to go home. They go out and solve shit, take down criminals and save the princesses. If I want to become a hero—and I think I'm feeling more agreeable to that idea—then I need to get over this idea of equating everything back to me. I need to hold everyone else's safety above my own. Like I said I would.

I don't expect this to be perfect. But, then again, what in life ever is? I can't focus on the negatives, though. This is my chance to be the person I never got to be. I've been handed all the tools—it's up to me now.

I looked up to the sky. I didn't smile but the urge to do so was there and that was the important part. I kept on heading in the direction of the Presidium, the limp in my step and the persistent pain no longer bothering me.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

**A/N: Jesus, this chapter turned out longer than I thought it would. This whole case did, in fact. But was it good for you folks? I sure do hope so. It'd make me feel so ever much better if it did.**

**So now there's an epilogue of sorts and a transitory chapter to deal with. But after that we can move on to case two! Exciting times we live in. Expect an excess amount of drinking and ribald humor next chapter—I've been waiting to write that one for a while now.**

**Also, you all should really check out AllianceCommand's stuff. He's a fantastic writer and has got some great AUs under his belt (not to mention more smutty stories than you could shake a meaty stick at). He's also plugged me a creepy amount of times now and I feel obligated to return the favor. So go check him out—you won't regret it, I promise.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	16. Old Number Seven

Chapter Sixteen:

Old Number Seven

"Thank you Jack Daniels

Old Number Seven

Tennessee whiskey got me drinking in heaven

Up here the bottle never runs dry

And you never wake up with those tears in your eyes."

_Old Number Seven, The Devil Makes Three_

**18:12, GST**

**Blood Alcohol Level: Dead sober**

My eyes are going to explode.

For about twenty minutes I was driven through the inner workings of Tayseri Ward on the way to the bar Jaran had mentioned. First of all the whole ride there was spent with me nearly pissing myself in the backseat. Cabs here in the future are completely automated because, you know, fuck safety. This thing was rocketing through tight bends and congested traffic, up and through narrow passageways, going vertical and horizontal without warning—I swear it even did a corkscrew for no reason at all. It had been doing all that at the calm speed of one hundred and twenty miles per hour. I had hugged the seat in a death-grip and had only peeled myself off when it stopped moving.

When I wasn't suddenly finding religion I was being taken in by the vibrant sights. Bioware had only given a small view of the whole station in the games but here it was displayed in full glory. I could only describe it has a giant metallic favela honeycomb . . . thing. The huge arm itself was hollow, a huge metallic cave that stretched a few kilometers up and down. Buildings had been capriciously laid out in straight or horizontal lines like giant pipes along the ceiling and walls, creating this complicated network of bridges, valleys, peaks, plateaus, and every other geographic feature imaginable. Then there were these colossal honeycomb structures placed randomly around this clustered highway, each serving a different purpose—some served as crowded apartment complexes, others for malls and shopping centers and some seemed to be a mix of the two. Maze was too generous of a word—this was a rat's tomb with barely enough room to breathe.

The most striking part was the lighting. Inside everything was pretty abysmally lighted, like everyone wanted to live in a noir story. To compensate the residents here had put up some of the most vibrant color displays I'd ever seen. Huge advertisements of neon billboards and moving holograms danced against the darkness. Long streaks of color, orange and blue and green and purple, dashed across the sky in curving arches and spirals. No district used the same lighting grid—each new street or corner had a different color of the rainbow illuminating the thousands of people bustling on by. All the hues bleed together into an orgasmic expanse of brilliance. Words couldn't really do it justice.

Eventually I got off my taxi ride and had to actually walk to the bar. The journey was just as blinding. The crowd was thick with every Council species. Stores jumped out at me with dazzling holographic ads or the cat-calls of the salespeople. The sky was a blur of zooming skycars, the vivacious holograms and the distant looming of pipe-buildings. I felt lost in a cyberpunk movie. I think at some point I got numb to all the sights 'cause everything whirled into a blur of colored light and the hum of many conversations. I got lost a few times and was halfway convinced someone had spiked my drink until I managed to stumble upon my destination.

That was my journey to the club. I was currently sitting at a round table with Garrus and Jaran in a sea of other round tables filled with aliens and humans. This club, unlike Tartarus, was playing a softer techno song at a reasonable volume, allowing everyone to talk to each other. Roaming asari waitresses, dressed down to the vulva, were going around and serving people. The ceiling was one giant fish tank filled with exotic fish that would give a biologist a hard-on. For entertainment, a dancefloor like a rubix-cube with flickering squares was around the center and boisterous gambling machines lined the walls. My senses were nearly beaten to death.

"Enjoying the view?" Garrus asked, shifting in his seat. His visor was a blue ribbon in the colored gloom.

"Apparently the phrase 'tone it down' doesn't mean much to these people," I said, craning my head. Some alien fish with two fins and a giant feeler zipped past overhead. A salarian to my right hit the jackpot on a machine and was making sure everyone knew about it.

I was tired. After walking back to my hidey hole on the Presidium I'd realized that sitting alone and doing nothing would not be the best thing for me. So I'd found out which hospital all the slaves had been taken to and had promptly gone off to volunteer there. Helping move patients, talking to the more traumatized slaves, keeping all the reporters at bay. It'd been a good outlet and I'd thrown myself at it until . . . well, an Eclipse merc by the name of Steve Harris was brought in for severe head trauma. He probably wasn't going to walk again, let alone talk or read a book. I could still hear his wife give this miserable sob, like all her hopes and dreams were just ripped out of her.

Now, though, I wanted to bury my sorrows the only way a man legally can.

"Told you this place is great, Shitface," Jaran said, also looking around. Though he was more focused on the curvy blue women. "Great tunes, greater drinks, and the greatest fucking asari this side of Illium."

One of the said asari approached our table with a smile that almost seemed sincere. "Can I get you boys anything?"

"Strongest dextro drink you have," Jaran said immediately.

"Can I get some bourbon?" Garrus asked.

The asari, who was so underdressed it was impossibe not to stare, turned to me. "Uh . . . whiskey?"

"What kind, sir?"

"Whatever you think is best."

She smiled and the rhinestones decorating her fringe glowed a little brighter. "I'll be right back."

She walked on past us and Jaran turned his head to watch her backside which, I'll admit, was glorious.

"Do you want us to get kicked out again?" Garrus asked.

Jaran kept watching her rear for a few more seconds and then snapped back into a sitting salute. "Sorry, sir. I won't have any more fun, I promise."

"Good. And tighten that salute, Private. Are you trying to embarrass the Hierarchy?"

My eyes wondered off. The dancefloor was a raging good time and the wandering asari waitresses were . . . captivating, to say the least. As I watched these people, though, I felt a burning hatred for each and every one of them fester inside. Here they were in the lap of luxury while a few miles away people were starving and killing each other by the morgue-full. Did they even care about all that poverty? Did they even care that there had been a goddamn slaving operation going on? They were all selfish, every last one of them. I bet they all watched the news of these terrible crimes in their rich cozy homes and didn't waste a single neuron of their empty heads thinking about it. What a waste of fucking oxygen.

_You're a delightful person, you know that?_

"—Quinn?"

I came out of my mind to find both turians staring at me. "Yeah?"

"I said," Garrus said, "tell us about yourself. Interesting stories, facts. . . ."

"Sexual proclivities, hm?" Jaran asked, waggling his mandibles.

There was a pregnant pause. "I'm not a very interesting person."

"Oh, come on, Shitface," Jaran said. "We didn't invite you here just to make fun of you."

"I thought we did."

"Well fuck, he doesn't need to know that."

I thought of some stupid lie in my head but my mouth reacted before my brain. "Alright, since you asked, I'm a nineteen-year-old pre-med student from a different universe that was killed in a car accident and sent here by an affable god figure to join C-Sec and stop an army of Lovecraftian monsters from wiping out all sentient life in the galaxy."

"Right," Jaran said. "And I'm an asari maiden that shits dark matter."

"Come on," Garrus said. "No need to be so defensive."

"Hey, it's the truth. Your choice to believe it."

The asari waitress returned and handed us our respective drinks. Jaran's was blue, Garrus' was a thin purple, and mine was a potent green. They started gulping it down immediately, Jaran a little more feverishly, and their mandibles spread wide in a funny face as they did so.

I stared at my drink. "Can I ask you guys something?"

Jaran made a loud gurgling noise with the cup almost halfway down his throat while Garrus decided to swallow before speaking. "What?"

"How are you doing . . . this right now?"

Jaran slammed his half-empty glass down and made a face. "How do you mean?"

"This," I gestured with my hands till the words came, "like, just sitting here shooting the shit after everything we did today."

"You mean Tartarus?" Garrus asked, like we were talking about the weather. "That was nothing, did I ever tell you about that warehouse down in Zakera Ward?"

"Ohhhh," Jaran said. "That was a shitshow. All those Blood Pack mercs everywhere, the hostages—"

"Hey, I'm being fucking serious here. You know, we all killed people out there and now we're just acting like it didn't happen."

"You killed someone?" Garrus asked, a little more serious. "I remember you hiding in the corner."

"That piss-trail was hard to miss," Jaran added.

"Yeah, when I went back to get the turian girl Amok jumped me. I shot him."

"Didn't you want to shoot him?" Garrus asked, taking a sip. I gave him a dead look and he seemed to change tact. "Look, you shot a criminal—a violent rapist that enslaved dozens of people. He deserved to die."

I tried to snort but it came out as a scoff. "Did he? Or is that just your opinion?"

"Everything is everyone's opinion, Shitface," Jaran said. He took another large swig and almost drained the glass. "Good and evil are social constructs, little labels we created to make us feel better about ourselves."

"Not this again," Garrus muttered.

"What's good is completely subjective, Shitface. First you have the governments—the Hierarchy, the Alliance, whatever—all telling you to obey their laws in order to be 'good'. Get a job, find a mate, charge that hill—do everything we tell you and you'll be 'good'. Then you have the religions all claiming that their ghosts or gods are all the path to this vague salvation and that you need to obey their every word to get there. Seeing a pattern here? And all in between you have everyone spouting their own truths to be facts and it ends up in this big fucking mess of contradicting truths and ideals. So let me ask you, Shitface—who is right?"

I didn't have an answer. Truth was Jaran was heading into an ideology that I had logically accepted but had never emotionally believed in.

He laughed and the alcohol in his breath curled my nose. "There's your answer! Nobody. Nobody is the moral authority on anything because they get their principles from whatever arbitrary basis they want. The only reason you feel bad for killing that batarian is because you've been indoctrinated—and yes, indoctrinated is the right word—into believing that that was wrong. When the truth is that it wasn't wrong at all! Who fucking cares that you shot him? Are the planets stopping to mourn? Are the distant galaxies writing shitty hymns? No, because the universe doesn't give a shit and you shouldn't either."

Garrus cleared his throat. "What Jaran is trying to say is don't worry about it. You did your job and there's nothing you can do now." He drank some more. "Plus I'm trying to enjoy myself and all this talk of morality is making me think too much."

"Garrus is right, Shitface," said Jaran. "Even if he is being too fucking anti-intellectual about it. What's done is done and all that tautology shit. What really matters now is that you can look at yourself in the morning."

An asari waitress came over and took Jaran's empty drink. He leaned back in his seat and slapped her ass. She gasped and slapped him hard across the face before storming off with a purple hand-print already forming on her cheeks. Not that I was staring, of course. "Ahh," he said, wiggling the mandible on his slapped side. "Tonight's gonna be a good night. I can already tell."

"Alright," I said, "that's all well and good, but what's stopping you from, say, kicking a baby? It's not wrong, is it?"

"So how about this weather, huh?" Garrus said, looking between us expectantly.

"Well, Shitface, the thing about having a blank slate morality is that you can write anything you want on it. So, even though I know there's no good reason to think it's bad, I can still say it is and no one call tell me otherwise. Why do I say it's bad? Because I want to. And, despite what I said, society has had a huge influence on me." He stopped and watched me. "Let me ask you another question—according to your own morality, was killing Amok wrong?"

My first answer was no and that surprised me. I tried to argue about why murder was wrong but Jaran's words kept attacking these thoughts with questions. Everyone deserves life—why? Murder is never justified—why? Killing is always harmful—why? If I looked at morality subjectively then nothing is wrong. But if nothing's wrong then who says what's right? Is anything right?

Fuck, man, I don't know. I wish I hadn't brought this up.

"So did anyone catch that local sports game last night?" Garrus asked. "Completely ridiculous."

"You know Garrus," Jaran said, "this is exactly why I wanted Shitface to come. You never want to talk about anything interesting."

"I've found that mixing philosophy and alcohol is never a good combination. Especially with you—you get angry and swear a lot."

"No I fucking don't!"

The asari waitress returned and gave Jaran a new drink. He offered a wide toothy grin. She glared at him before shaking her curves away. "She'll come around," he said, already gulping the drink.

I swirled my green drink around and felt a powerful thirst. "I agree with Garrus. We can talk about the meaning of life later. Let's enjoy ourselves now."

Jaran facepalmed. "Aw, for fuck's sake. . . ."

I held my drink up. "L'chaim!"

Garrus paused with his beverage halfway to his mouth. "Are you okay?"

"It's an old Earth phrase, means 'to life!' You say it when drinking, everyone hits their glasses together and then you go drink more and ruin your life."

Garrus smiled. "Sounds fun." He raised his glass and looked over to Jaran.

He shrugged. "Why not?"

We all clanged our glasses together, yelled "L'chaim!" and started chugging. The whiskey was slightly viscous and tasted like bleach but I managed to not puke long enough to down half the glass. The glasses all slammed down on the table with a collective sigh. The fire burned down my body and erupted inside. I closed my eyes and allowed the sweet warmth to mix with the pleasant music. Feeling energized, I grabbed my glass and drank the rest in a few gulps. My stomach was a furnace.

I pounded the glass down so hard it cracked. "Alright, let's have another!"

**18:37, GST**

**Blood Alcohol Level: Life is good.**

"Just tell us one, Quinn!"

I leaned back in my seat, feeling the world shift. "You won't get them, though. A lot of 'em are culturally specific."

"Try me, Shitface," said Jaran, finishing his third cup. His entire being was radiating the sharp smell of booze. "I know a lot about your culture."

"Alright. Uh. . . . What's the difference between a Jew and a boy scout? . . . Boy scouts come back from camp." Silence. "Case in point."

"Try another," Garrus said.

"What's the difference between acne and a Catholic priest?"

"What?"

"Acne waits until you're thirteen to come on your face."

I giggled a little but the two turians stared blankly at me. "I don't get it," Garrus said. Jaran seemed to be in the same spot.

"Double entendre. The priest is 'releasing his payload' on the boy."

"I'm sorry I asked," said Garrus, turning his head towards a human laughing very loudly.

"Yeah, I got that," Jaran said, "but what's acne? And why is your priest giving a kid a facial?"

"See, this is exactly my point. You're not gonna get a lot of our jokes 'cause you don't know the context."

"Maybe you're just not funny," Garrus said slyly.

I forced down another mouthful and thought of another one. "Have you guys heard the joke about the baby with AIDS?" They shook their heads. "It never gets old."

"I got that one!" Jaran yelled, loud enough to turn some heads. "AIDS was this immune disease, right? Killed a bunch of humans?"

"Yes Jaran, thank you for explaining the joke."

"Come on," Garrus said, "there must be some that are universal. You laughed at that klixen joke, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but, to be fair, anything about sodomizing a politician is pretty funny." I polished off my drink and kept down the backwash. "Alright, let's try this one—a human calls into work and says to his boss, 'What's the difference between work and your daughter?'" Dramatic pause. "'I'm not coming into work today!'"

This got a good reaction—Jaran belted out a hearty laugh while Garrus started choking on his drink. "I swear Shitface," Jaran said between laughs, "I'm telling that to Pallin at some point."

"You know," I said, "statistically, nine out of ten people enjoy gang rape."

Jaran bent over in the throes of laughter and Garrus was shaking his head trying not to laugh. "Try this one!" Jaran said. "A woman successfully gives birth after many hours of labor. The doctor takes the baby into the next room to examine it. When he comes back in he starts punching it, kicking it, slamming it on the wall and floor. The woman screams, 'Spirits, what are you doing?' and the doctor says, 'Surprise! It was already dead!'"

"Wait, I have one," Garrus said, clicking his mandibles. "One morning a human was found with fifteen bullets in the back of his head. A turian C-Sec officer called it the worst case of suicide he'd ever seen."

I laughed into my drink, but Jaran shook his head. "That reminds me of the better days, when turians and humans could hate each other with freedom and passion. What happened to that?"

"The politicians told us to play nice," I said, gesturing absently to a waitress for a refill. My head rolled back a little with the effort and I forgot where I was for a moment.

"Fuck that! Our races are made for fighting each other, Shitface. It's wrong to pretend we're friends now." He grabbed his drink and looked away. "Too bad Dad never made it off Shanxi. I bet he'd have liked eviscerating humans."

Aw shit. "Your dad was involved in First Contact?"

He nodded. "Yeah, got shot in the first push, before bombardment." I opened my mouth to say something but he cut me off with a handwave. "You don't need to get all mushy Shitface—I'm told he was a violent drunk and overall a pretty shitty person."

"Like father, like son," Garrus said, smiling a little. "I'm sure he'd be proud."

"I'm not a violent drunk, I'm a _loud _drunk. There's a difference." He stared into his drink. "I guess it's not all bad—if he hadn't croaked I probably wouldn't have met Garrus 'Shithead' Vakarian here."

"How so?"

"Jaran was the neighborhood pyjak," Garrus said. "His mom was usually too drunk to watch him so every day he'd wonder around, bother the girls, annoy the boys, beg the parents for food. I met him when I was forced outside to play and get him off our property."

Jaran grinned. "And an hour later your dad was yelling at us for stealing his rifle and shooting the cupuatu."

"I thought he was more mad that a ricochet broke two windows and a priceless vase."

"Either way your sister is a tattle-taling bitch."

They both laughed, Garrus' a silent hitch and Jaran's a flanged shotgun. Luckily the asari waitress came over and gave me a new drink so I didn't feel like too big of a third wheel. They descended into shaking their heads and watching the table, lost in their memories. I got more drunk.

"So," I said, "you guys like gay jokes?"

**18:54, GST**

**Blood Alcohol Level: Dude, what?**

"How many testicles do you have?"

"Depends. How many do you have?"

Jaran blinked. "Depends? It changes?"

I leaned back in my seat and the world gyrated. "Yeah, you know, if it's cold out they fuse together to preserve heat. Basic survival stuff." He stared at me and I laughed a little too loudly. "I'm joking, bro."

"Just tell us, Quinn," Garrus said.

"Fine. Two."

"Ha! We have three!" Jaran made a new tally on his omnitool. "'Nother point for us. . . ."

"Oh, come on! How are three testicles better than two?"

"Because there's more," Garrus said. "Come on, keep up."

The conversation had shifted, inevitably, into what species was better, human or turian. It was a pointless dick-measuring contest—neither side was willing to concede a point to the other and each argument was debated with shouts, stubborn denial of facts and ad hominem galore. I was also outnumbered so every questionable point would automatically go to the turian side, even if I was right. It was completely abortive, accomplished nothing, and people were starting to glare at us from the noise we were making. It was pretty fucking fun.

"Alright," Jaran said. "Do you have mandibles?"

"I left them in my other pants."

"Ah, sorry Shitface—gotta be prepared. One more for us. . . ."

"Fuck you, mandibles are not a sign of superiority."

"Says the human without them," Garrus said, running a hand along his cheek. "Must be horrible, knowing you'll never be a turian. How do you live like that?"

"Alright, alright, I got one." I held back a hiccup and a blood rush clouded my vision for a moment. "How many ventricles do you have?"

They exchanged a glance. "In our heart?" Garrus asked. "One."

"Ha! I have two! Chalk one up for humanity, boys."

"Actually," Jaran said, "it's technically two. We have this flap that—"

"Don't try to bullshit me. I know what an atrioventricular septum is and it doesn't count." They both recoiled a little at that. "Jaran, if you would."

He grumbled something and added another tally. Garrus hiccupped and his mandibles flared. "And how, exactly, is two better than one?"

"Because two ventricles prevents the oxygen-rich blood from mixing with the carbon-dioxide-rich blood, creating a far more efficient cardiovascular system." I grinned. "And there's more. Come on Garrus, keep up."

"How about this?" said Jaran, polishing off his fifth glass. How he could still talk was beyond me. "Relay Three Fourteen—who killed more?"

Garrus' eyes widened. "Uh, that's not a good—"

"Sure, Jaran," I said quickly, remembering the Codex. "Look it up."

Jaran started typing on his tool, fumbling over the controls. Garrus tried to talk but a hiccup choked him off. "I think it's important to remember," he said, "who would've won had the conflict kept going."

"Yeah. The humans."

Garrus tried to laugh sarcastically, the kind where it's a slow slugfest of condescension, but the effort made him hiccup more and he ended up choking on air. He bent over and struggled for a little bit, spilling half his drink. "That was so funny it almost killed me."

"Fuck!" Jaran said under his breath. "Uh, sorry Shitface, says here more humans died." I raised an eyebrow and tilted my head. "Fuck, fine, you fucking ape. . . ."

"This is pointless," said Garrus, engulfing more alcohol. "We all know turians are the better survivalists. We have talons, thick carapaces, a sleek frame, the fastest run speed. What do you have?" He grabbed my wrist and flailed it around. "These stubby things?"

"Yeah, Shitface," Jaran said. "Everyone knows turians are better in a straight fight. What makes you think you're better?"

"You wanna know why we're better? I'll tell you."

I leaned forward. "Imagine this—sub-Saharan Africa, the grasslands, middle of the day in a flat field with the sun beating the dirt. There's a herd of meandering gazelle, eating grass and shit. A few humans charge the pack and they all scatter and outrun the humans easily. But the humans mark a single gazelle. They follow that gazelle. It may be out of sight but it's not out reach. Now the gazelle can keep outrunning the humans but here's the thing—the humans don't stop. The gazelle needs to rest. The humans don't. They keep chasing it, relentlessly, for miles and miles and fucking miles until the gazelle collapses, literally on the brink of death from exhaustion. The humans then close in and kill their prize.

"Our planet is an unforgiving hellhole and we've made it our bitch. We have scorching deserts, sprawling grasslands, huge swathes of ocean, freezing tundras, thick jungles, and sky-scraping mountains. We colonized it all and made it our own. We can lose up to forty percent of our blood, get limbs chopped off, have dozens of our bones broken and still live. You see this fat here, the stuff you made fun of me for? It can keep me alive. I can go for weeks without food or water while you wither and die because of this and, if it gets bad enough, my body will start _eating itself_ to survive. We've lived through thousands of natural disasters—erupting volcanoes, tornadoes, tsunamis, meteor strikes, deadly plagues, brutal warfare, hell, we can't even fucking kill ourselves.

"So yeah, you're right, a human probably wouldn't win in a straight fight against a turian. But when it comes to endurance, the ability to survive, we will kick your ass, any day and at any time. Oh, and we have the largest cocks according to our size. So fuck you, we're better."

"Nice speech," said a voice behind me.

I had gone to drink more and the liquid sloshed around in my trachea. An asari, dressed in a mauve skin-tight dress that shimmered in the light, walked around the table, grabbed an empty seat and pulled it up to our table. Her skin was a deep cobalt, her blue lips full crescent moons and the fringe sweeping elegantly along her head highlighted the intricate facial tattoos. There was a large rectangular bruise, a purple anomaly, running along her cheek. She smiled at me like a personified cobra. "Nice seeing you again, John."

My face burned like an oven. "My parents told me not to talk to strangers."

"Who is this, Quinn?" Garrus asked.

She laughed with humor and a little malice. "Quinn! So that's your name. How quaint."

"Care to introduce us, Shitface?" Jaran asked, eyes roaming up and down her body.

"Uh, Garrus, Jaran, this is . . . Sapphire. From the video."

"No shit!" Jaran leaned forward and asserted himself into her field of vision. "It's a great pleasure to meet you ma'am, I'm a big fan of your work."

"I thought you looked familiar," Garrus said. He turned to me and broke out into a toothy smile. "Something wrong, Quinn? You seem red."

"What are you doing here, Sapphire?"

She smiled at me in a way that made want to melt into my chair. "Well, Quinn, I heard your little speech there and thought that, well, we didn't leave things on a great note, did we?" She took a sip from my drink. "We're not exactly even, wouldn't you say?"

"I—"

A fist I was too drunk to see caught me in the jaw. I recoiled and fell head over heels out of my chair, colliding with a passing waitress and obliterating her stock of drinks. A sea of eyes watched me as I climbed up, fumbled with my apologies to the waitress, and got back to a seating position. I rubbed my jaw. "Alright, I deserved that."

"Yes, you did," she said, swallowing more of my drink.

"Damn," said Jaran. "Nice punch."

She smiled at him like a succubus. "Thanks. Say, care to buy me a drink?"

He started flapping his mandibles and I had to force down some laughter. "Would I? Hey!" The asari waitress I'd fallen on, currently wiping the booze off her toned belly, looked up. "Get this lady the finest drink you have, right fucking now!"

"I'll have a refill too please," Garrus said, raising his glass.

The waitress grumbled out an affirmative and walked away, still trying to get the liquor of her. Sapphire was watching me, Jaran was watching Sapphire, Garrus was also watching me, and I was watching the table. Silence reigned.

"So," Jaran said, "care to explain how you met Shitface here?"

"No," I said.

"I would love to," she said warmly. "It was yesterday, and the heavy bass was thudding through Tartarus as I walked through the crowd. . . ."

**18:84, GST**

**Blood Alcohol Level: Who needs a liver, anyways?**

". . . chunks everywhere, hanging off his skull and floating inside his brain fluid. It looked like someone had dropped little bits of bubblegum into tomato soup."

Sapphire made a face and pounded down some more whiskey. "And he survived that?"

"Somehow. Let me say this, if you manage to screw up killing yourself with a goddamn shotgun you're a Class A retard. I mean, the spread on those things usually blows the tops off people's skulls—this guy only had a fist-sized hole. 'Course, he blew out almost half his brain, which meant that he was basically a centimeter above a vegetable for the rest of his life. But he was alive, technically."

It was . . . sometime later and I had ended up regaling Sapphire with tales of my time as a hospital intern. In high school I had joined this medical academy that groomed students into doctors—medicine and anatomy had always come easy to me and I thought, well, girls get wet for doctors in labcoats, don't they? The academy required a certain amount of volunteer hours to be completed to graduate, which meant on the weekend for three hours I'd be shadowing some doctor or technician at my local hospital. I couldn't legally do anything but I could watch what they did. And let me tell you, you see some weird shit there. I had a bunch of stories.

Only me and Sapphire were currently at the table. That was Jaran's fault—he had tried flirting with Sapphire with as much subtlety as a bull in an ICU. After she tossed his drink in his face, he had challenged her to a drinking contest. Why? That's a good question. Now, he was already six drinks down, so half a minute in he started puking his guts out like he had parted the floodgates. You ever seen a turian puke? Quite a sight. Garrus had rushed him off to the bathroom and I hadn't seen either of them for a good while. Now it was just me, her and a puddle of puke. Pretty romantic.

We both washed down our drinks and slammed the cups down. She closed her eyes and glowed a biotic blue. "Got any more exciting tales?"

"A few, yeah." I closed my eyes to think. My mind was immediately pulled down a melting current of numbness and I had to climb back out. When I opened my eyes the world was a swirling pot of loud lights and vibrant sounds. I had to grab the table to keep from tipping with the station's orbit. "Did I tell you about the diabetic woman?"

She smiled warmly. "I'm dying to hear it."

"Alright, well, this is when I was working down in the radiology department. A morbidly obese woman—a true American if I've ever seen one—came in on her mobility scooter and complained of pain in her left calf. Now she smelled fucking terrible—more than hamplanets like her usually do. We rolled up her pant leg and God, her sock was covered in filth and mold. It was stuck to her flesh so the technician dude had to cut it off. Her entire fucking leg was pure dead flesh, all swollen and purple.

She furrowed her hairless brow. "What?"

"Yeah, diabeetus'll do that to ya. Bad circulation and the constant glucose fluctuation causes neuropathy, especially in the legs and sometimes they need to amputate the foot 'cause of it. Anyway, her leg was fucking gross and nearly sent me heaving, blah blah. We were gonna do the X-ray like normal when I saw her flesh _moving_. Like twitching. We got close and they were these little holes in her puffy flesh, about the size of pins. I poked it and a fucking maggot crawled out."

"Goddess. . . ."

"Yeah, we got a real doctor down there and he cut her flesh with a scalpel. There was an entire goddamn colony of maggots burrowing in her flesh, wriggling around in there." The memory of the smell hit me and I had to stop for a moment. "The doctor opened her skin more and there were fucking _layers_ of bugs crawling around and munching on her muscles. Her reaction? 'How did that happen'? Fuck me man, it was some nasty shit."

She laughed. "Well, Quinn, you certainly know how to impress a woman."

I smiled like an idiot. "I thought'd get ya. Something about fat people and maggots just makes women swoon."

She purred and scooted a little closer to me. "Tell me, are you on duty right now?"

I tried to read her face but I was far too drunk. "Look, Sapphire, I'm sorry about hitting you. But, come on, you pulled my gun on me. It was warranted."

"Oh, no, I understand." She scratched at the bruise. "I would've done the same. At least you had the courtesy not to rob me afterwards." She looked into my face and something flickered in her eyes. "But I'd be curious to know what a fine C-Sec officer like yourself was doing there in the first place."

"Sorry, that's classified."

"You like playing games don't you?"

I grinned. "I do. And I know you do too." She returned the grin. "You know, you can hit me again if you want."

"If you insist."

Her left fist looped, blurred and collided with my nose. Something cracked. "Goddamnit, I didn't think you'd actually do it."

"Then you shouldn't have offered," she said cheerfully. While I tended to my abused face she glanced around like a creature raised in neon. "Why don't you and I go somewhere else?"

I blasted some blood out of my nose. "Go? Where?"

She cupped her hand around my cheek. "Somewhere more quiet."

Now I may have been drunk off my ass and very inept with the female gender, but that sentence was a little hard to misinterpret. I took a look back to where I knew the bathrooms were. "I don't know. . . ."

"It'll be fun," she called playfully. A hint of biotics played across her skin.

On second thought, fuck those guys.

We stood up and I absently tossed a credit chit, which held the last of my money, to the table. The booze hit me like a sledgehammer and I wobbled on my feet for a few terrifying seconds. Then Sapphire grabbed my arm in a warm hand and the world settled itself. We smiled at each other and started moving towards an exit, me savagely refusing to walk a straight line.

And as we passed through the lurid lights and the churning masses, underneath divine colors and above a chaotic hive, amidst the demanding music and the myriad of spinning pictures, I had the fleeting and erroneous thought that life was pretty good after all.

**19:07, GST**

**Blood Alcohol Level: I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.**

Blue.

A swirling, tumultuous cascade of blue, filling the world and swallowing color, molding and melting into itself, stupefying the senses in a flurry of cobalt and turquoise and indigo.

Touch.

I am the world. The essence of life seeps through me, rushing through my cells. I am fire and water, sky and earth, ethereal and tangible, life and death. I am fully realized.

Movement.

I fall as I fly, burn as I freeze, tear as I mend. I am lost in a sea of euphoria, each sensation a shockwave of ecstasy, a smothering tidal wave of pleasure. There is safety, serenity—I relax into the pulling river of sensation.

A presence presses on the walls of my being. The feeling is so alien that I hesitate and the warmth dissipates. The presence knocks again and I fumble for an opening. It enters and I explode.

I see an infinite horizon watched by an alien sky, dotted with immense buildings and buzzing vehicles. I stretch my blue hands for it, wanting to seize it all in my budding fingers. I pull backwards and then I'm running, laughing and gasping, my friends dancing through the field, not a thought of tomorrow tainting our minds.

An ugly brown landscape with an opaque blue background. A forceful hand throws me down while I claw for life. Bubbles tickle my skin. A growing fear squeezes my heart. Through the deathly struggle, light permeates the darkness. I lunge for the threshold. My head clears with flailing limbs and sweet air fills me. A barreling wave roars past and I'm lost in the race again.

My identity is melting.

The crowd is thick and lively. Through the din and color I weave my path. Pointed fringes, flat green faces, playful hair. The air teems of life. Faces leer, hands and claws shadow, the gifts and innuendo are thriving. A human, dejected and battered, stares at nothing. I advance and he smiles with hidden intent. The drinks flow.

Sweat stains my tongue. My opponent grunts and charges. Swinging limbs and shifted balances. I hit the padded floor. Struggle, hot and desperate, pining for joints and leverage. My arm bends to break. I twist. An elbow crushes a throat. A whistle. Release. Pride. Repeat again.

I was enveloped in sensation, memories, information. Sights, sounds, smells, worlds I'd lived and hadn't lived were interchanged. I became part of another person. The instinct was to claim myself but the presence soothed my mind and the ecstasy returned, vivid and powerful. My resistance was drowned in apathy.

Time ebbed on into the slippery slope of infinity.

**6:78, GST**

**Blood Alcohol Level: The bottle bit me.**

I woke to the sound of someone pounding on a door.

An axe hit my head and I cringed. My mouth was dry and the world was loud. With my aching head lying on a hard pillow I fumbled with a thin blanket. My hands hit air and I fell out onto a metal floor, my nerves on fire. I twisted and moaned on the ground and.

My crusty eyes opened and recoiled at the light of the Wards. I was alone in a hotel room, cheap by the looks of it. It was about the size of a large bathroom with no furniture barring a bland bed and a television on the wall. A large window showed the bustling city stretched out on the arm. My feet kicked an empty bottle, one of many littering the floor. Where the hell am I?

"Vuelve más tarde!" I yelled, even though I knew it would be translated. "Estoy, er, lavando mi cabello!" The knocking continued. "Vete a la mierda!"

The knocking intensified. I went to answer but realized I was naked. And that I had some fingernail scratches running along my shoulders and neck. My clothes were lying randomly around and I threw on my jeans before answering the door.

I expected to find an angry krogan but instead a volus greeted me, his head barely clearing my waist. He seemed less than happy.

"Can I help you?" I asked, exasperated.

He stared at my forehead. "Rent is due, Earth-clan," he said, holding out a stubby palm.

_Fuck._

"Uh . . . do you accept sexual favors?" His stare intensified through the suit. "Hey, don't give me that look. I give a killer reach around."

"Don't make me call my associates," he said, his voice hissing and clicking. I peeked my head into the hall and saw two male turians standing with their arms crossed next to a breakfast table. "I'll also need to collect your due for the mini-bar and the erotic vids you ordered."

The word bar made the pain intensify. "Can you give me a minute?"

"Now, Earth-clan. Your Thessia-clan friend said you would pay."

In times of great emergency sometimes great stupidity is required. I widened my eyes and pointed behind the volus. "Oh shit!"

He turned halfway around. I kicked his shoulder—Jaran was right about them being solid little fuckers—and he tumbled in a ball to the ground. I sprinted down the corridor in my bare feet with my eyes being pierced by sharp needles of light. There was a flanged yell of "Hey!" and a dual set of pounding steps behind me. A furious series of clicks and hisses followed that.

I must've looked quite a sight to the dozen or so people hanging out in the small lobby. Shirtless and shoeless, messy hair and bruised, running like my life depended on it. Being in a less than perfect state of mind I stared yelling "Fire! Protect the children!" and flipped over a breakfast table or two, knocking turian and asari treats high into the air. I piledrived a salarian in tight pajamas and he flew into a group of asari. There was a fire alarm near the door so, naturally, I punched it, letting out a whinning blare and a shower of dirty rain. More commotion the better. Or something.

Stampeding through the lobby doors lead me out into a busy neon sidewalk. I had no idea where to go so I ran left in the flow of the walkway. Defying my crippling hangover I pushed and tackled my way through the crowd while my turian pursuers yelled for me. Being shirtless and covered in alcoholic sweat let me slip through the crowd easily. And the faces of the people I ran past were hilarious. I was probably enjoying myself too much for my own good.

A stand was in the middle of the walkway, with a lone quarian parading the odd dextro fruits that looked straight out of a horror movie. I came up and threw it over, scattering the contents on the ground. Some human woman screamed melodramatically. The quarian made to grab at me, but I ducked under him and one of my turian pursuers accidentally tackled the poor guy trying to get to me. I kept running.

There was a taxi business about fifty feet down, a ledge hanging over space where flying cars waited in rows to be picked. Ghost talons skimmed my back. I ran harder. There was an asari entering a taxi right in front of me. The car hangar door started closing and moving horizontally out. I hit the ledge and launched myself off with some skidding and swears behind me. I flailed like a drunken bird and hit the backseat headfirst as the doors closed and the car started speeding away.

As I pulled myself together I managed to get right-side up long enough to look out the back. My two pursuers were watching me leave and, with a tired resignation, they started sulking back. I turned around to see the asari gaping open-mouthed at me. Words seemed to elude her.

"Good morning, ma'am," I said. "How's your day going?"

Her mouth opened and closed with air dimly escaping. "Are you going to rape me?"

"No, nononono, no, I'm—no—I'm not going to rape you. No."

"Do you want my money?"

"No! Look, ma'am, just let me ride to wherever you're going and you'll never see me again. Okay?"

She nodded emptily and slinked back around, obviously still scared of the shirtless human that had jumped in her car.

I leaned back in the seat and felt the dulled force of my hangover finally hit home. This was coupled with my realization that I had left most of my clothes back at the hotel. Before I could suffer more my arm vibrated. I'd gotten a message from Garrus.

_GV: You're wanted at the office._

_MQ: Can it wait?_

_GV: Pallin said, and I quote, "If that filthy pyjak isn't here in ten minutes I'll make Shanxi look like a picnic." I think he's mad._

_MQ: Stall for a while, then. I've got to get decent._

I looked up to see the asari staring at me again. "Lady, please, I'm probably not gonna rape you."

She gestured to her forehead. "You have. . . ."

I looked in the window reflection. There was writing on my forehead, drawn in blue lipstick.

_Call me sometime—Sapphire._

Despite everything, I laughed. I got comfy in the seat and gazed out at the looming buildings and dust clouds. I even managed to forget about what I was going to face in a little bit. A small smile emerged on my lips as I started messaging Sapphire on why exactly she owes me a drink next time we meet.


	17. An Interlude

Chapter Seventeen:

An Interlude

"Yeah, I'm lookin' to the sky to save me

Lookin' for a sign of life

Lookin' for something to help me burn out bright

I'm lookin' for a complication

Lookin' 'cause I'm tired of lyin'

Make my way back home where I learn to fly high."

_Learn to Fly, Foo Fighters_

**July 1, 2186**

**10:12, GST**

**Location Unknown**

"_. . . and th-th-that's all folks! My first ever 'case'. Enjoy the ride? Good, I got a few more. Then we can get on to Shepard and stuff. Just hold on a minute there, though—I like to set a scene, get the feel of everything first. And I guess this is kinda my diary anyway."_

_The man shifts in his seat while tugging on the collar of his shirt. "You know, looking back, I thought those two days were the craziest times of my life. Boy was I fucking wrong. Just one explosion? Yeah, okay, pal. Call me again when you're leading a goddamn revolution._

"_Well, after that life just kinda . . . went on. Call it cliché but that's exactly what happened. My wounds healed on up, Tartarus reopened under a different name, all the slaves got jobs or moved around. Nothing really changed—sure, the drug trade in Bachjret Ward took a big hit, but that was back and booming in no time. I got used to it all, C-Sec life. Adapted to it. The human body is pretty amazing that way—drop it into any shit situation and it'll adapt or die trying. Fucking nature, man."_

_He pauses. "Huh, I just swore there didn't I? Fuck it, I don't care anymore. It's just a fucking word. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuckfuckfuck. It's a beautiful word—I don't understand why people get all hot and bothered about it."_

_He rubs his hand together, silent. "I went to a therapist. Now, let me be very clear, I didn't want to. A pile of shit is more useful than a therapist—at least you can throw shit at someone. But . . . fuck, man, I was struggling. Killing Amok and seeing all that death really was not doing my fragile psyche any favors. I got impatient, pissed off all the time, sleepless, I even had flashbacks. It was either get help or drink myself into a coma. So I went—reluctantly._

"_Did it help? Well. . . ."_

**17:42, GST**

"Please take a seat."

The words were intended to be friendly but I took an instant dislike to them. They sounded clinical, like a robot programmed to almost sound human. Disinfected words and a sterile tone. Yes, sir, your call is very important to us. The speaker raised her head from the datapad and smiled. Her lips were the only thing on her scaled face that moved, making the gesture seem grotesque. On the outside I smiled back in that vaguely polite way I'd been trained to do—on the inside I grimaced like I was chewing on plastic.

I fell into the couch, making the generic black pleather sigh. The dry air cracked my lips. The datapads on her desk, bathed in purple and orange light from the room's only window, were robotically organized. On the wall to my left was a framed degree from some high-brow university on Balen, and orbiting it were smaller pictures of drell and hanar from the same school. Directly opposite me hung a painting of an ocean, chaotic black waves crashing with foamy teeth and branches of lighting forking down from angry clouds. Very soothing, I must say.

The drell, Angrona, watched me in her armchair. Her eyes hadn't left me since I'd entered the room. She looked . . . weird, but in an attractive way. Wait, shit, that came out wrong. She was sleeker and more feminine looking than your average male, with an olive green complexion and a jaw that jutted out like a V. Her gills or whatever on her throat were a rich mahogany color. What stood out the most to me, though, were her eyes—they were large and blacker than oil, blacker than death.

She didn't say anything—the only indication she was still alive was the occasional blink of eyes that bored into my skull like a bullet. They were security camera lenses, mechanical and impersonal, every little detail being recorded and vivisected. Well, maybe that's a bad comparison. All I knew was they were creepy as hell.

"Uh . . . hi?" I ventured.

"Hello."

The staring contest continued. Outside I could hear the human laundromat owner arguing with a batarian. A drop of sweat rolled down my cheek. She blinked her inner lid and blinked the outer one a few seconds later. She was doing it rhythmically, inner to outer, like a metronome. Probably was some freaky mind-control shit.

"So," I said, "this is a, uh, nice office you got here."

"Thank you."

It was getting hard to keep eye contact. She wouldn't stop staring at me. I kept fidgeting around—looking out the window, twiddling my thumbs, scratching the back of my neck—but she was as stiff as a corpse.

"Are we gonna, you know, start?"

"We have," she said, grabbing a datapad off the desk and typing something. "What seems to be bothering you?"

_Oh, nothing much, doc. I just lost my entire life and family, became the plaything of an omnipotent being, went through harsh training to become something I never wanted to be, have been shot at and nearly killed numerous times, actually did kill someone, and lived on the street for almost two months now. You know, the usual shit._

"Well, this and that."

"Could you be more specific Mr. . . . Quinn?" She perked up. "Yes?"

I cocked an eyebrow and looked behind me. "I didn't do anything."

"You flinched."

"No I didn't."

"I'm trained to read body language in every Council species, Mr. Quinn. You flinched." She wrote something else down. "You did it again."

"Bullshit."

"Is there something about that phrase that upsets you?"

I let out a deep breath. "Listen, lady, I think I'd know if I flinched or not. I didn't."

She examined me for a few seconds, then kept writing. I imagined myself grabbing that datapad and beating her with it, bone and scale cracking, blood and brain flying, each strike eliciting a weaker and weaker response until she was lifeless, splayed and bloody and—

_You mind your daddy, Danny! You do what I say! You do it or I'll give you a hiding you'll never forget. Open this door or I'll bash your fucking brains in!_

I wiped my lips with the sleeve of my jacket.

"You're an Investigator?" she asked. Her voice was neutral, like a machine.

I nodded.

_Cracking up, not playing with a full deck, lost ya marbles, guy just went loony tunes, he went up and over the high side, went bananas, lost his football, crackers, nuts, half a seabag—_

"Is there anything that happened, anything you're having trouble processing?"

I thought about my answer. Mostly because I didn't want to sound like a little bitch. "You remember that Tartarus thing a few weeks back?"

There was a brief flicker of surprise. "You were involved in that?"

I nodded like a bobblehead. "Yeah . . . yeah, I was there. Saw the, uh . . . you know, the bodies and stuff." The words hung themselves in the air, defenseless. I wiped my lips again.

She didn't move or do anything, which was pretty much the worst reaction. "I see," she said blandly, writing. Her face was so devoid of any emotion it could've been chiseled out of green stone, a porcelain mask worn by a robot with gun barrels for eyes. Gun barrels, yeah, that's what her eyes looked like. The black, yawning barrels of loaded guns peeking out of her face, a bullet with my name cooking in the chamber.

_My own girls, sir, didn't care for the Overlook at first. One of them actually stole a pack of my matches and tried to burn it down. I corrected them. I corrected them most harshly. And when my wife tried to stop me from doing my duty, I corrected her._

"So," she said suddenly, making me jump, "what exactly are you here for?"

I laughed, more to exhale some pent up air than anything. "Fuck, lady, take a guess."

Her mask cracked a little. "I just asked a question. And please don't swear."

"Why the fuck not?" My smile was insultingly toothy.

"Because I like to have a calm atmosphere here, where patients can"—_so I'm a fucking patient now?_—"feel safe and not be ostracized. Swearing causes feelings of anger and hatred and I don't condone it at all."

"Oh," I said, smiling so hard it hurt, "well, in that case. . . ." I cleared my throat. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuc—"

"Quinn."

"—k fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck fuck fuck fu—"

"Please."

"—ck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck f—"

"Stop!"

Her shout was so sudden that I actually got scared—my fingers flexed for the trusty pistol, legs spread in a combat stance. I had practiced that move a little too much. Her face was as stern as a principal with shriveled ovaries and I realized that I was the stereotypical punk kid, being a general shithead for some quick laughs. I wiped my lips while white hot embarrassment decorated my face.

_This inhuman place makes human monsters._

"Look, Angrona, I'm sorry, alright?" I said, barely meeting her eyes. "I'm just havin' a little fun. I'll . . . I'll shut up now."

_You're the caretaker, sir. You've always been the caretaker. I should know, sir. I've always been here._

Why am I even here? I'm sure there are a lot of better things I could be doing on my day off—playing guitar, working out, killing myself, something. Therapy is a joke, anyway—the abortion of psychology, which in itself is an abortion of proper, legitimate science. Normal science has definitive answers and explanations for how things work. Psychology is all guess-work that varies hugely based on the "patient". It's pseudoscience, end of discussion. I'd even go as far to say it's an insult to real scientists doing meaningful work.

_Come and take your medicine, you little shit! Take it like a man!_

I'm fine. Fuckin' dandy. I've managed to survive this long on my own dashing wits and I can definitely continue doing it. Alone. I don't need some goddamn VI masquerading as a living person telling me what's wrong with me. I'm fine. Fuck her, fuck this office, and fuck this whole business.

_Mr. Torrance, you will meet the manager in due time. He has, in fact, decided to make you his agent in this matter. Now drink your drink._

I got up so fast the couch scraped and shrieked along the floor. Angrona froze mid-sentence. Dimly, my brain swelling—_all work and no—_with blood, I stumbled towards—_play makes Jack a dull_—the door. My legs felt like—_boy all work—_rubber and my—_and no play makes Jack_—vision was swarmed with color. My voice, ugly and—_a dull boy all_—mocking, kept chanting a phrase—_work and no play_—in my mind, endlessly, maddeningly, and all I could think about—_makes Jack a dull_—was that it's not in the book, it's not in the fucking—

"Where are you going?"

I froze with a hand—_claw_—reaching out to the door. Fingers stretched but fell short. I might as well have tried to walk through a brick wall.

"I'm leaving."

"Why?"

The silence cut me like a razor. I wiped my lips and choked down rapid breaths, feeling like the whole galaxy was watching me, laughing at me.

"I decided therapy isn't for me."

"On the contrary, therapy was created exactly for someone like you." She raised the datapad she'd been writing on. "Did you know that in the . . . four minutes you've been here, I've identified six separate drug-seeking behaviors?"

"You—really?"

"Yes. You also seem to be developing a dissociative disorder, judging by the way you mumble frankly disturbing things to yourself."

_Are you sure self-pity is a luxury you can afford, Jack?_

I guess I was supposed to be having some kind of revelation there, some realization that I'd been cheerfully tumbling down the slippery slope of sanity, but nothing profound came to mind. "Alright, so, say I am one wave short of a shipwreck. What are you gonna do about it? Fix me up with happy pills, you know, dope me out till I can't put the gun to my head?"

She noticeably flinched and this time I didn't feel good about it. "No! I'll help you, talk to you about it, help you overcome anything you're having trouble with. Drugs don't help anything."

I nodded emptily. "And what happens if my problems are so deep-rooted, so . . . fucked up that I'm probably never gonna get over them?"

"Nothing is insurmountable. I promise, I will do the best I can to help you. Okay?" There was actual emotion in her voice. Sincerity. It was beautiful.

I clenched and unclenched a fist, making the fingers dance. After a few moments of horrible indecisiveness, I hit the door a few times with the flat end of my fist and went back to the couch, eyes on the floor. My heart was a machine gun. Angrona reached behind a stack of datapads on the desk and magically conjured a glass of water, which she handed to me. I had never drunken anything faster in my life.

"I'm guessing you're not very used to being open with others," she said.

I laughed too loudly. "What makes you say that?"

"A hunch." She smiled—it would've taken a microscope to actually see, but I felt its presence. "Are you going to try and walk out again?"

"That's negatory, captain. I've . . . well, I've already sunk my hard-earned cash into this, might as well stick it out."

"Good. Now, let's try again. What exactly can I help you with?"

**July 1, 2186**

**10:14, GST**

**Location Unknown**

"_Redemption is a load of horseshit."_

_The man stares into the camera. "There's no redeeming the things we do, all the bad shit that builds up inside us. I always thought that there was a moral scale of sorts—do some good shit here and that bad shit over there becomes okay. Doesn't work like that. The bad shit never goes away—you just shift the paradigm to make it seem less bad. It's survival—you need to keep functioning, need to keep that little voice whispering 'you're a fucking monster' out of your head a little while longer. And eventually you get so desensitized to it all that the bad shit mixes with the good and it all starts looking like one big pile of shit to you._

"_Once I realized that I got over the whole Amok thing pretty quick. I was being groomed to become the savior of the galaxy—I couldn't be crying over one slaver could I? Time to man up. Easier said than done but I did it. Fact is folks, when it comes down to it, I may complain a lot but I'll always follow through. Usually I'll just worsen the situation but, hey, at least I tried._

"_I remember the dreams I had about him, though. They'd start the same—it was always a black realm thing with walls of fire flanking me. Amok would be on the ground in front of me, on his knees and crying in his ugly alien voice, just bawling his fucking eyes out. I'd raise a shotgun all slow-mo with a female voice whispering in my ear, saying something I couldn't understand. I'd fire and blow out his right knee-cap—it was always the right knee first—and he'd burst into flames and start screaming. I'd work my way up the body while he burned—exploding his other knee, his pelvis, torso, both arms while the voice in my ear got louder and more excited. Right when the barrel went to his head I'd wake up pulling an imaginary trigger."_

_He makes a gun with his hand and shoots slowly upward, making popping noises. "Never really grasped the significance of those dreams at the time. I just chalked it up to trauma. Ah, the gifts of retrospect, huh?" He blows away the imaginary smoke._

"_Work also helped with my problems, surprisingly. You see a lot of death in C-Sec and that really conditioned me. Jumpers splattered on the ground, addicts with mucus foaming in their mouths, mass gang executions. Seen it all and more. I'd already seen some shit in my medical volunteering days too, so the transition from 'green as puke' kid to 'ballsy veteran' at the homicide scene was fairly quick. Death is death—I guess it really doesn't matter who pulls the trigger. The result is the same."_

_The man rests his elbows on his knees. "I remember seeing my first duct rat. Not a fun day, no siree."_

**13:40, GST**

"It's over here, Investigators."

The middle aged human woman ushered us through the hallway like it might collapse above us. Some customers from the café to the left were scowling at us over their expensive food, grimacing features softened by blue neon. Lower Wards people were an odd bunch—on any given day they'd spit on a C-Sec officer's boots but when they were in trouble they'd sprint the fastest for a uniform. I'd say something about hypocrisy but I'm no real authority on that subject.

The hallway lead out to an open area with a low roof and a bright mixture of rainbow colored lights. It was a playground of sorts—I saw slides, swings, vibrant mazes, a mini forest area with dark purple trees. Kids were running around, mostly turian and asari with a few humans, laughing and shouting with energetic vigor. A few noticed us and started whispering to their friends in a tone dripping with child-like wonder. The teacher, some graying turian woman, saw us and started herding the kids towards the daycare door, making sure to keep her voice playful.

The human lady, with mangled blonde hair and a forgettable face, brought Garrus and me to the building's resident electronic store, literally right in front of the children's playground. It was a small affair, thirty or so feet either way, snaking green lights running along the chrome edges, minimal advertisements flashing some "new special sale". Electronics of all species were littered along dusty racks, second rate omnitools and battered scraps looking like spoiled food. Behind the glowing counter stood a young mauve salarian, who looked ready to sell the clothes off my back.

"Finally!" he said in a squeaky voice. "I've been calling for weeks about stolen merchandise and now you decide to show up!"

"Where?" Garrus asked.

"Back there," the salarian said. "Hurry up, the smell is keeping customers out."

The human civilian left and we went into the back. It was crowded, claustrophobic really, with the walls stacked high with boxes still wearing their tags. A rectangular vent winded its way along the roof. The single blue light barely kept the darkness at bay.

The smell was terrible—like someone had shit out a rotten egg and covered it in spoiled meat and vomit. Garrus didn't seem fazed but I had to stop and hold back some persistent backwash. He pushed a fist up and pressed against the vent, bending the thin metal in. He started moving down a line while doing this and I stayed behind trying to mentally decide how far gone this kid was. It smelled at least a week or two old, maybe a week and a half. Nice and musky, like fine wine.

"What took you so long?" the shopkeeper demanded. "This is at least the fifth time I've reported this."

"My partner can answer that for you," Garrus said, not even bothering to look at the guy.

His large eyes narrowed on me. "Well?"

"All concerns and complaints regarding C-Sec employee performance," I began in a monotonous tone, "and or public policy should be directed to our main office at eight six seven five three oh—"

"Forget it," he said. "I can't expect better." He left, leaving ill feelings behind.

Garrus kept moving down the vent, denting the metal with his armored hand. He looked at me. "Going to help?"

"You're doing a good job."

"I'd be doing a better one with you."

"No, no," I said, leaning against a large stack of boxes, "I'm sure Mr. 'I'm Fucking Awesome' Vakarian can handle this by his lonesome."

He laughed in his breathless way. "Well, at any rate, we should get this over with. There are more important things to be doing."

"Like what? Vallok got the Skamul thing. Guy's so stupid he could drown in a bowl of soup and he got it over us. And this is something Jaran should be—"

Something moved. A little human boy, barely four or five, was standing near the back in his little colorful clothes, watching us intently. I could barely see the face of an asari girl peeking out the door to watch us.

"Hey, kid, get outta here," I said, rounding on him. "This is no place for you."

He looked up at me with these vacant, wondering eyes and, despite myself, I couldn't help but think that he was ridiculously cute. "My dad works at C-Sec."

"That's nice, kid." I bent my knees down to his level. "Look, I need you to go alright? You can't be here right now."

He wiped away some brown hair from his eyes. "Why?"

_Listen, you little shit—_

I was going to say something but Garrus coughed. He pushed against the vent and it stayed firmly in place, even sagging a little. I nudged the kid farther away. His asari friend called him from the door. He stared up at me with those glowing eyes and ran off on his little legs.

Garrus unscrewed an access panel on the vent. When he took it off a rushing train of odor roared out and punched me. All the hairs in my nose were burnt to the follicle. Inside the vent was a thick trail of green blood running in puddles along the floor. Garrus peered in, briefly, before erupting into a coughing fit. "To the left," he said, mandibles waggling.

I held my breath and looked in. Sure enough some decrepit salarian kid was curled in a ball not two feet down, his skin a sick blue and his stomach a distended balloon. The smell clawed at my eyes. I reached a hand in—we were just here to remove the body anyway, nothing really to investigate. I gripped his ankle firmly and pulled. Something shifted but the body came, slowly, making this awful sliding noise on the metal.

His leg came out into the light. Garrus grabbed his other one and tugged. His torso bent on the opposite wall and there was this disgusting cracking noise, like snapping firewood, as his neck bent. I pulled harder—his leg slid in my grip, the flesh ripe and malleable. I made the mistake of pulling even harder.

His shin tore from the knee, split like it was pre-cut, and I was left holding a cold set of meaty bones. Garrus had kept pulling—the body slipped through the hole and hit the floor with a wet smack. High-pitched screams shot out from the doorway, followed by the quick beating of little feet. I stared open-mouthed at the rotting limb in my hand and thought about those barbecued pork ribs back home, so juicy and fried that they slid off the bone, all soft and squishy. Something rolled against my foot—it was the kid's head.

"Fuck!" I threw the shin away, which made a wet slap against the wall. Garrus shook his head and put in a call for the disposal unit. The smell was ferocious now. The kid had a large laceration along his hip and a piece of electronic scrap in his hand—he must've stolen some product, ran into the vent, cut himself on a fan and bled out before he could get help. Crawling through those tight tunnels, your life draining violently away, getting more and more desperate for open air. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Garrus nudged me. "You okay?"

"Fine." The head stared up at me. "Fucking Christ, man, that's disgusting."

"Let's wait out there."

I obliged hurriedly. The salarian shopkeeper was organizing his crappy merchandise on the shelves. He said something to me but I didn't hear it. I was watching that human kid get called over by the turian teacher. He was waddling over to her when he stopped mid-stride and turned his head to me. We looked into each other and I could see that he didn't really know what was happening. Just that it was bad and something he shouldn't have seen. His teacher's soothing calls finally coaxed him—he ran into the daycare. She made a passing glance at me before following.

I rubbed my fingers into my palm, sticky with the salarian kid's grease, and distantly waited with Garrus for the disposal unit to arrive.

**July 1, 2186**

**10:17, GST**

**Location Unknown**

"_I've never liked seeing dead kids. I mean, you shouldn't really enjoy seeing dead bodies in general but kids . . . man, something about dead kids just puts me off. Innocence lost or some shit, I don't know. It's bad stuff._

"_That was the bad, but there was a lot of good in C-Sec too. I did a lot of shit—drug raids, tracking serial killers, busting gang members. Straight up movie stuff, I swear. It was scary as fuck and all the death and violence didn't help my state of mind, but . . . well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it a little. I remember getting off this one warehouse raid turned firefight, huge-ass haul of illegal weapons mods—I was flying, man, high as a kite off adrenaline. Greatest fucking feeling of my life. And it was always the little things afterwards that did it for me—a slap on the back, some quick 'nice job' from a guy I didn't even know. Doing good is the most addictive drug out there._

"_Despite my cliché cop lifestyle, though, I never had a steady love interest during that time. Sure, there were women—drunken women to be specific—but there was no one I could really call a 'girlfriend'. Just fuck buddies and hungover regrets. So, uh, sorry folks—you'll have to wait a little while for any romance. You know, if you were creepily waiting for me to fuck an alien girl."_

_The man laughs into his hand. "There was another thing I ended up doing that was complete Hollywood stuff. Even now, years later, I can't really believe I got away with it."_

**8:04, GST**

These eggs are terrible.

I stabbed through the yoke and it bleed out a thick yellow paste. I pushed it around the plate a little before tearing off a piece and forcing it down. It chewed like hardened plastic. These weren't chicken eggs, by the way—it was the eggs of some weird amphibious species on Nevos, an asari colony. Over my breakfast I saw a table of salarians making disgusted faces at my meal. Silly oviparous aliens. I grinned and took a wet bite, the yoke oozing down my chin. They moved to a different table.

The outdoor Presidium restaurant was full and lively. Every table was packed with different species in expensive outfits and the air was pulsing with multi-toned conversations. The fake sunlight and sprawling lakes and plants on the ground made for a nice atmosphere. It was nice to eat a meal up high, in the nosebleeds, with the wind blowing gently and the exotic people strolling around. The view was definitely post-card worthy. A couple of pigeons, whose existence on the Citadel still baffled me, flew by overhead and shit in a turian's meal. I laughed.

Garrus was standing off by a railing outside the restaurant, absorbing the view. He was purposely not looking in my direction. He always objected to this. But he also knew it got results so he had settled on being all snide and passive aggressive about it. I think he felt my stare 'cause he keyed up his tool and wrote something down.

_GV: We're wasting time._

_MQ: He'll be here._

There was a pause where I ate more eggs while staring at the salarians. Then:

_GV: I hope so._

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

An asari waitress was standing in front of a large krogan, her hand on his chest and another on her hip. It looked like a drop of rain trying to stop a tank.

"But I'm meeting someone!"

"Sir." I could tell she tried to nudge him but he didn't budge at all. "Please, you're causing a disturb—"

I whistled. Literally half the restaurant turned to stare at me. "He's with me!" I shouted.

Agrius smirked at the waitress and pushed past her—she gave up and went to serve a table of rowdy humans. My table trembled with his booming steps and the solid metal chair seemed to cry out in agony when he sat on it. Dude was big for a krogan—about eight feet tall, thick as a tree, with a brutish yellow face that seemed oddly welcoming. He had the kind of smile that made you happy when you saw it, and scared when it vanished.

"Wanna cig?" he asked, pulling out a pack from the folds of his armor. I shook my head. He jammed a stick in his mouth and tried to spark it up, but his lighter clicked fruitlessly. He flicked it over and over with the same, empty result. "Come on, you piece of—" The lighter imploded- in his meaty fingers, tiny drops of fuel dripping down. "Damnit, that's the fifth one this week!"

"Easy there, buddy." I stuck out an arm with an activated tool and lit the cig jutting out of his mouth. "What have I told you about your anger issues?"

"They're not issues if I enjoy them." The flame brightened and a few seconds later grey fog oozed out. "How's the food today?"

"Like microwaved dogshit. Better than usual, actually. You got the info?"

"Do you have to ask?"

"I do if I can't see it."

"'Why yes, John, my morning is going great, thank you for asking'."

"Funny, I don't remember asking."

"And it deeply bothers me that you didn't. I thought we had something, John." I gave him a dead look. "Fine. Excuse me for trying to be polite."

"Sorry, man, I got a schedule to keep. I can take you out for dinner later." He pulled out a datapad from nowhere and slid it over to me. I started going through it while mindlessly eating. Names, dates, locations, exit and choke points—a detective's addiction. Agrius kept taking drags and staring into the distance.

"So how's business?" I asked.

He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Can't complain—there's always customers. Must be that special ingredient."

"Sunshine and rainbows?"

He let out a shotgun laugh. "Something like that." Another lull. Agrius grabbed some of my food and threw it to the birds meandering about. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know what happened to Gomen would you?"

"Got canned by yours truly. Tried shooting me—didn't quite work." I pointed to a cut on my cheek. The first part was true but the second wasn't. I had cut myself shaving that morning. "Hope that's not an inconvenience for you."

"He was small time. I'll find a new fence."

"Good." I shoved the remnants of my meal away. "So this is legit right? All the assets, everything?"

He nodded with a smug smile. "Do you really doubt me? I've always held up my end."

"Might I ask how you got this information?"

"No you may not," he said happily. "That's my secret. Unless, of course, you want to do me a small favor and—"

"No. Out of the question."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The smile endured. "I was only offering."

"We've been over this, Agrius. Get some other cop to be your mole—I'm not crooked and I guarantee you won't have a hard time finding a dirty one."

The smoke sailed lazily around his head. "Nah. Most of C-Sec treats me with suspicion, harassment, insults about my mother, threats of arrest. With you it's much of the same but at least you smile while you do it."

"Yeah, I do spoil you, don't I?" I stood up with the datapad and patted a credit chit into his chest. "Here, buy yourself something nice, big guy. I gotta go."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Kennedy." As I walked away I heard him get comfy in his seat and yell, "Excuse me, Miss? I'd like to order some of your questionable food please!"

Today was going to be a very productive day, I could already feel it.

**July 1, 2186**

**10:20, GST**

**Location Unknown**

"_Information is a weapon at C-Sec. You don't know shit and your haul will be shit, simple as that. So many Investigators were . . . 'encouraged' to build their own network of contacts in the criminal underworld. The higher-ups aren't too picky on where you got the evidence if it helps take down the criminal. I had, let's see, I had Agrius, Sapphire, a zippy salarian mechanic, a gay turian stripper—fun guy, by the way—uh, this human junkie, a fucking hanar with ties to mercs. You meet a lot of interesting people at C-Sec—'course, most of them are assholes but sometimes they're nice people._

"_And, no, I did not go dirty. I made sure to choose contacts I agreed with. I mean, for example, Agrius only sold drugs—who fucking cares about drugs? The only people they harm are the ones that are stupid enough to take them. If he had stepped up to murder or selling weapons I'd have arrested his ass—but he didn't so I had no problem with him. What's right isn't always lawful and what's lawful isn't always right. I was a good cop, folks—I just didn't always follow the rules, much like my partner._

"_Speaking of which, Garrus . . . Garrus, Garrus, Garrus. Back then Garrus was a rabid dog on a tight leash. He wanted to do everything, chase every lead to death, pressure suspects, you know, anything to get the job done. He'd go cowboy all the time and usually it bit him in the ass—and me too, by extension. I remember we were investigating this young turian kid for 'allegedly' raping this human chick—Garrus shot him in the leg when he tried to run and the guy went into shock and bled out. Oh, boy, he got chewed out for that one. He's a pretty cool guy but goddamn, he had some self-control issues._

"_Devon . . . could Devon even be considered a friend back then? . . . No, not really. Back then it was mostly a matter of us not killing each other. I won't say too much about her—she'll be around but she's not gonna be relevant for a while._

"_Then there was Jaran. Great fucking guy. He was . . . shit, how do I describe him? He was . . . he was always so genuine, you know? Everything he said he meant and I always respected that. He was vulgar, womanizing, an alcoholic, a borderline sociopath—what's not to like? He did have his secrets, though. He could never hold down an apartment—he made enough money, but he'd always blow it on drinks or shallow women. And there was that whole botched case thing, the reason why he got demoted to Enforcer—every time I asked about that he'd change the subject or get pissed at me._

"_I mean, I caught glimpses, but, even now I still don't know the whole story."_

**18:72, GST**

"Did you see where he went?"

Garrus raised his head and looked around, blinking like a newborn puppy. "I don't even know where I am right now."

I pulled his arm tighter over my shoulder. "Goddamn, you're fucking heavy."

"Quit complaining." He tried to bring up his beer bottle but his hand missed his face and it ended up spilling on himself. "Damnit."

"Been eating a lot, tub-tub?"

"Shut up!"

Garrus and I were . . . well, shit, I don't know where we were. It was some desolate street in a quiet neighborhood, the soft neon of closed stores lighting our way. Above us the apartment complexes, lit up like Christmas trees, stretched hundreds of meters to reach the stars. The shadows here were long and thick with the occasional beacon of colored light placed randomly around. Everything looked the same—the standard gray and blue fused the shops and fixtures into a sea of faceless chrome and color. We were lost all right.

It probably didn't help that we were shitfaced out of our minds. We had been celebrating the arrest of this human businessman who had been stalking the streets and butchering prostitutes. Besides being a sick fuck he had been weirdly hard to catch and our recent success had been a cheap excuse to get wasted. Jaran had come along and we had had a grand ol' drunken time. This was the aftermath, where we struggled to get home safely and legally.

Except there was a problem. Jaran had gone missing.

"Jaran!" My voice echoed along the road but nothing came back. "Get out here you fucking asshole!"

"Please stop yelling," Garrus said. His foot crossed mine and we both stumbled to our knees. A deep groan rumbled out of him as I struggled back to my feet. "Why won't everything stop spinning. . . ?"

"Fuck's sake . . . look, I'll put you down somewhere and I can go—"

He puked. The frothy purple mixture erupted like a firehouse and doused me in its warm embrace. A good chunk of it sprayed the floor and I lost my balance on the slippery liquid, sending us both rolling into the filth. I flailed around, swearing and shouting, until I managed to get upright. He moaned with his face in the vomit.

"You fuck!"

"I feel so much better now," he said. "Why am I on the floor?"

"Alright, just . . . shit, just stay there and don't die. I'll go find Jaran."

He made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative. I began my mission.

The rest occurred in a sort of movie montage thing—I'd stumble along an alley, barely keeping myself upright, and then I'd suddenly be in front of a store, then knocking on someone's door, then back in front of the store again. I do remember talking to a few people. There was an asari-human couple that had quickened their pace in my opposite direction, a couple of turians who wouldn't stop laughing at me, a human kid that tried to steal my chits and sent me to a dead-end alley. My legs felt like rubber but I was oddly determined to find Jaran, no matter how cold the trail was.

I don't know why it caught my eye. It was just a plain-looking cemetery, one of many scattered around the Citadel that was overflowing with bodies. I stopped wondering towards a nearby nightclub and shuffled over to it. The sign above the gate read _Achlys Cemetery_ in large green letters. The gate itself, though, was halfway open and I spotted a discarded beer bottle shattered next to a trash can. I went inside.

I felt like I'd stepped through a thin veil—the air inside the cemetery was colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra. Headstones were lined up in neat little rows on a grid pattern, some of them covered in graffiti and others semi-smashed. A couple of mausoleums stood out like vigils in the darkness. Harsh yellow lights were placed intermittently around and I hurried under one to feel better. It seemed to me I was disrespecting these people by walking in here drunk off my ass.

The smell of Garrus' vomit wafted up and nearly sent me heaving. As I bent over to calm my stomach I saw a shadow. There was someone kneeling over by one of the graves in the turian section. My vision was too jumbled to really make the person out so I wallowed over to the figure, balancing on the headstones.

It was Jaran, bathed in the yellow light. I struggled into a neutral position behind him. He must've heard the commotion I was making but he didn't acknowledge it. He was bent over on his knee, his head down and his fringe pointing to the sky, sat down right on top of a grave. He was silent—I don't think he was even breathing. I wanted to say something but words and coherence eluded me at the moment.

I stood on my tiptoes, wobbling dangerously, and read the little blurb.

_Nata Tavus_

The rest was blocked out. Jaran wasn't moving. I didn't know if he was praying or thinking or what—all I knew was that he wasn't gonna let me stop him. A thin air of . . . something descended on us, something cold and watchful. In the distance I could hear the faint beat of techno music and the sounds of turians laughing. My shirt was sticking to my skin and my head felt too small for my brain. Being in a less than perfect state of mind, I did the only thing I could think of—I put my hand on his shoulder.

He stiffened on contact but I squeezed a little and after a few seconds he relaxed. And so there we stood, him on bended knee and me trying very hard to keep my balance, in a warm embrace of yellow light against the surrounding dark. We existed like that for a long time.

Then he stood up—he did it so suddenly that I stumbled back and almost tripped on a headstone. He let out a long breath and watched through the shade for any onlookers. When he felt satisfied he came over and got right in my face. I had a seizing thought that I was going to join the folks down under.

"Not a fucking word," he said, subharmonics laced with something ugly.

He walked away into the night. I followed after a moment's hesitation.


	18. SSDD

Chapter Eighteen:

S.S.D.D.

"Dear mother, can you hear me laughing?

It's been six whole months since that

I have left your home

It makes me wonder why I'm still here

For some strange reason it's now

Feeling like my home

And I'm never gonna go."

_Welcome to Paradise, Green Day_

**July 1, 2186**

**10:22, GST**

**Location Unknown**

"_Yeah, back then life was . . . good? Yeah, good. Maybe. Probably not. Whatever. Did part of me eventually come to enjoy waking up and solving crime, banging chicks and outrunning explosions with a badass alien partner? Maybe I did learn to tolerate it eventually." He scratches his head with a small smile. "Nah, in all seriousness . . . well, those C-Sec years are probably the best ones of my life. Everyone needs something to belong to, something to wake up for. I felt like . . . yeah. I dunno. Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days when it was just me, Garrus, and whatever shit we could stir up. Good times, sincerely."_

_He reaches into his back pocket, produces a small white packet, pulls out a cigarette and sticks it in the corner of his mouth. He lights the stick with his omnitool and closes his eyes while the flame swells. "You know, people say quitting smoking's hard. It's not. I've quit over thirty times now." He laughs with the cigarette between his teeth. "I've told that joke so many times and it's still fucking funny, man. Just remember kids, finish what you started. No one likes a quitter."_

_Smoke plumes out of his mouth. "Right, where was I? Caso dos? Gotcha."_

_He gets comfortable in his seat and stares off-screen, the cigarette burning by his ear. "This case takes place about . . . six months later? Something like that. It's noteworthy for a few reasons. Firstly, there's explosions. And lots of guns and bullets and death and stuff. Secondly, it's where I met Dolos." An odd combination of humor and scorn appears on his face. "That fucking guy. Anyway, thirdly, it's where I got this scar."_

_The man lifts his shirt. Amongst the scars and tattered flesh lay four ragged lines of discoloration, which started under the right pectoral and ended above the belly button. He ran his fingers along it. "One of my proudest scars. The ones on my back are more impressive, I'll admit, but whips always make the best scars. These are . . . well, shit, why don't I just tell the story?"_

_He taps ash out of the cigarette. "Now, this case starts out much like how the other one ended—after a long night of drinking."_

**6:31, GST**

In the aftermath of a particularly good bender there's a split second of clarity where you realize what a terrible mistake you've made.

My moment of delirious understanding came when I woke up in bed, covered in soft sheets, and felt the angry hand of God lay His eternal wrath upon my head. When that kind of pain sucker punches you like that, rational thought flies out the window. I groaned, I swore, I tore at the sheets, I buried my head in my pillow till I almost suffocated. Nothing helped.

Fuck you, acetaldehyde.

Something moved next to me. Ash-colored talons curled around my arm while a heavily flanged moan worsened my headache. "Hey, I—"

**July 1, 2186**

**10:23, GST**

**Location Unknown**

"_Shit, no, it was a human. Human. Turians are . . . no, aliens in general are not very, uh, apt docking ports. At least for humans. Yeah, okay, she was human. Definitely human. Moving on. . . ."_

**6:21, GST**

Something moved next to me. Peach-colored fingers curled around my arm while a non-flanged moan worsened my headache. "Hey, I—"

I clawed my way out of that bed like a cornered animal, kicking and tearing at the covers. I hit the floor in a mangled mess of limbs and pain. The emergency shotgun under my bed was halfway unfolded when I heard a shift of weight on the bed, and fully loaded for bear when a set of surprised giggles followed. The laughter stopped when I stood up and leveled it at the intruder.

The nude human woman in my bed had apparently not been expecting that move.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Her face was so overloaded with confusion it seemed reality had glitched. "Kate! Kate!"

"Who?"

"Kate! We—we had sex last night!"

I hesitated, and it took doing that to notice that I, too, was naked. And covered in a healthy amount of scratches. "Really?"

"Yes! Did you—p-put the gun down!"

"Was it good?"

"What?"

"Was it good?"

I gotta say, that nonplussed look really suited her human features. Did I mention she was human? "Y-yes, it was. Can you please put it down now?"

I wanted to do just that but the bedroom door opened. I didn't react fast enough. A fist knocked the shotgun away, and a follow-up punch to the face had me tumbling back into bed. A human whose mother had probably been a drinker raised a pistol over my chest.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he said, chewing the words.

The human girl started shouting incoherently. I pushed myself up on elbow and said . . . and said. . . .

**July 1, 2186**

**10:24, GST**

**Location Unknown**

"_Wait, wait, no, this is—that's a . . . uh, different night. Disregard that. How did it . . . shit . . . okay, I think I got it. This is how it really started."_

**6:81, GST**

In the aftermath of a particularly good bender there's a split second of clarity where you realize what a terrible mistake you've made.

My moment of delirious understanding came when I woke up on a hard metal floor, a thin line of drool running into a puddle around my head. For a few moments I laid there bracing for misery. It didn't come so I slid my hands under my chest and pushed. Bad move. The world exploded with color and the contents of my stomach made a dash for freedom. It was a chunky clearance sale and, believe me, everything had to go.

My asari neighbors were arguing—with raised voices—about the best fringe polisher, and facial tattoos that glowed in the dark, and oh my goddess did you see the waist on that turian in accounting? On and on, high voices and low depth. I wanted to cry.

Once the tanks were empty, and after a few indecisive moments of heaving, I rolled onto my back and made empty promises to myself, as I usually did in this situation. I was lying perpendicular to my bed, which made me think I had tried and failed to collapse on it. I stretched a hand towards it and moaned like a dying soldier, but couldn't move. I didn't even flinch when some of my "expulsion" started mingling with my hair.

Something crashed in the living room. I tried to pretend it wasn't real but it happened again with a louder, more persistent crash. Swearing, flanged. More crashes. I forced myself up, teetering on dry-heaving.

I opened the bedroom door. Turns out this was a mistake.

My apartment was a goddamn mess. Beer bottles, half-eaten food, and various bodily fluids were thrown everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. My TV was hanging lop-sided on the wall while an asari sitcom fought through static. Bookcases and plants were toppled on the ground with their innards scattered. The brown pleather couch was ripped in half, straight down the middle, and bleeding insulation everywhere. It would've been pretty impressive had this not been, you know, my apartment.

You should get those tats done again, sis. They're starting to flake.

Jaran was rummaging through the cabinets in the kitchen area. He was also naked, though that wasn't out of the ordinary. Seeing as all their reproductive goodies were internal, turians had a much more laissez-faire view of nudity—meaning they'd be more liable to shed their clothes around others. Garrus was good enough to respect my "weird human modesty" but Jaran didn't give a shit and I'd eventually stopped asking.

And, besides, you know that cute human with the yellow hair wants to see you.

He looked at me like I was causing him a great disservice. "Where's your fucking food, Shitface? There's only levo shit here."

Spread 'N' Glow really is the best polish, sis, it drives those turians wild.

"Do you mind not ripping apart my house?"

But, sis, it dries out the lining of the brain and causes seizures. It's dangerous.

"What? I'm your guest and I deserve to be fed." He threw a few more cans over his shoulder. "Besides, I'm evening out the place. Symmetry, Shitface, we can't leave it half-trashed, can we?"

That's just what a salarian said, sis. You know they always have an agenda.

"Where's Garrus?"

Anyway, it smells like a vorcha's ass.

"He left. Said something about getting ready for work. Fuckin' tryhard." He pulled out a can of pancake mix and read the labeling. "So, hypothetically, how bad would it be if I ate this?"

"If you ate that dry, I'd be pretty impressed." I hit a few buttons on my tool to turn off the TV. It sparked, made a jagged buzzing noise, fell free from its stand and exploded spectacularly on the floor. I raised an eyebrow.

That human downstairs is awake, sis. We better get going.

Jaran tossed the box and opened a new cabinet. The second the door came free a volus in a shit-brown suit tumbled out, bounced on the kitchen counter, and rolled on the floor. He was coated in dirt and created a new layer of filth on the floor. He stood up, looked fearfully between us, and waddled as fast he could for the front door in a storm of clicks and gasps. He vanished down the hallway.

"What the hell did we do last night?"

Jaran shook his head and kept searching. "I don't know, but I really wish I could remember."

The bathroom door opened. An elcor tried to walk out but got his elephant frame caught in the doorway. After about half a minute of struggling, where Jaran and I watched him with a detached sort of amusement, he squeezed himself into the room. There was a birthday party hat, one of those cone things, on his head and a poorly drawn human penis on his cheek, which looked to be painted with Garrus' colony paint.

My stomach rang the bell for round number two and sent a heavyweight up my esophagus. Keeping it down was like trying to plug a fire hose.

He kept his head down and went for the door. On the way out he stopped by me and didn't make eye contact. "Embarrassed: Sorry, human. Sincere: I will pay for the toilet and sink."

Don't puke.

"How . . . how did you even fit in there?"

Don't spew.

"Pained: With difficulty. Embarrassed: Goodbye." He left the apartment after squeezing through the front door. It seemed to sigh with relief as it closed on him.

Think of penguins. Little penguins sliding on their bellies, happy, cute. Safe.

There was silence in the room—well, except for the TV sparking and my own groans of pain. I went and collapsed on the couch. There was something thick and sticky running along the cushions but I didn't care. The pain in my head was threatening to pop my skull.

Little penguins sliding on soft snow, chirping. A mother warming her eggs. A father waddling home with dinner in his beak. Slide, slide, slide. Down a luscious slope, wisps of snow shooting through the air, and end the ride with a little jump into an orca's waiting mouth, smashed into putty from teeth and enzymes.

Yeah, that's better.

"Well, Shitface, I gotta go." He walked between the couch halves and picked up a pistol off the floor. Him bending over was not a good sight. "I would offer to pay you back for the couch, but, well . . . I don't care."

There was a high-pitched whine, a rush of scurrying footsteps, and then something launched upwards onto his back. It was a monkey thing, gray and plated, with a rope tail and four toothpick limbs tipped with three fingers. It scampered up his torso through the rivulets of plates and nested on his shoulder, making a cooing noise and nudging its head against his.

"Aw, shit, I thought I lost you, little guy. You didn't eat any human food, did you?"

Its face looked like a monkey had fucked a hippo, and this was the abortion. It bared a mouth full of needle teeth at me and screeched. I remembered that animal cruelty earned you three years in the slammer.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up—what the fuck is that thing?"

"A mandrillus." Blank stare from me. "We liberated it last night?" The stare got blanker. "Spirits, Shitface, you need to control your drinking."

It screeched again. Genesis 1:28—God gave man dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl in the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth. This meant I could strangle the little fucker.

"We stole that thing?"

"Liberated. We liberated it from its evil, oppressive zoo owners. Don't look so fucking surprised, it was your idea." His tool beeped as he went for the door. "Welp, fuck, I'm an hour late for traffic duty. Maybe I'll finally be fired."

"You might want to put some clothes on."

"And deprive the galaxy of this?" he said, gesturing to his torso which, I might add, was covered in beer and grime. "I don't think so. See ya later, Shitface." He disappeared out the door and I barely caught a surprised gasp from what sounded like my asari neighbor.

I nestled into the couch. Maybe I could call in sick today. Yes, boss, my grandma has super cancer. It's also a special human holiday called "fuck you, I'm tired". I mean, if I'm not going to watch generic asari sitcoms, or turian heavyweight exhibitions, or hanar seminars where salvation comes at twenty percent of your income, then, by God, who would? This was my duty. This was better than real life.

I was about to type it all out when I received the one message that could make my day much, much worse.

_VP: In my office, now._

Well.

Shit.

I didn't know what to do. I had been staring at the words for a while, reading them over and over till they lost meaning, when another message came in.

_GV: Did he message you too?_

_MQ: Yeah._

A pause.

_GV: Long route this morning?_

Take the long route. Take the route that will keep Pallin stewing in his little seat in his little Presidium office until we waltz in with big shit-eating grins an hour after we should've been there. It wasn't a smart move by any sort of measurement, and Garrus knew it.

_MQ: Definitely._

Being smart is overrated, anyway. I smiled, stood up, and went to get ready for the day.

**7:27, GST**

Shalta Ward was rumbling to life like a rusted generator. Shops were opening, colorful ads were blaring, skycars were zooming by—the air was soaked with the fine odor of capitalism. There was a certain hustle and bustle to it all, a feeling that if you stopped to smell the roses someone would steal them from under your nose. It's why I liked the Wards more than the stuffed-shirt Presidium. People would beat and stab you on both sides, but at least people in the Wards would smile and not pretend what they were doing was legal.

Meanwhile, Garrus and I were doing what we did best. Arguing.

". . . and you're gonna pay for my TV, and you're gonna pay for my couch, and you're gonna pay for my—"

"We're even," Garrus said with a slurp of his drink. "Or did you forget what you did to _my_ apartment?" I tried to reply but my mouth was full of eggs and tortilla. "Use your words."

"That krogan followed me in. _I _didn't break anything."

"Still your fault."

A human bumped into me and knocked out a good portion of my burrito's guts. Pretty sure the asshole smirked, too. "Semantics, man. Are you gonna pay me back?"

"I like to think this is justice."

"Ah, well, fuck you."

We were walking down streets of color. Purple and blue lights on the low ceiling. Red and yellow advertisements, snaking tubes of neon and glowing holos, loud and exaggerated. Asari indigo, turian tan, human peach, salarian avocado. The gray walls got tighter and the colors got brighter as we moved towards what the locals called the stairway to heaven—the rows of elevators that bridged the Wards and the Presidium. You had to stop yourself from imagining how easy it would be to take the wrong turn and get lost in the neon.

"So," Garrus said, squeezing through a group of asari, "any idea what Pallin wants this time?"

"'Quinn, Vakarian, in light of your exemplary service, I'm giving you both raises and a bunch of big-titted whores with questionable childhoods. Go nuts, boys.'"

"Don't forget the medals. I could always use more—hey, hanar. Down the road."

A little ways down, between a turian bakery and an arcade, a hanar was preaching to an uncaring crowd. He was gesturing and yelling as politely as he could, to the utter indifference of everyone else. When we walked by he glowed and tried smacking me with a pamphlet, shouting something about Enkindlers and salvation and some other gentrified shit. I took it with a smile and threw it in the trash when we turned the corner.

"What's the score now?" Garrus asked, taking a bite of his own burrito looking thing. "Fifty to four?"

"I swear I'm a lot higher than that."

"Why don't you just admit I'm better? It won't hurt, I promise."

"See, Garrus, I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong. Do you see the problem? I—oh, drell, drell!" A drell was standing in line at the local vid theatre, a glorified coliseum with neon advertisements for bad vids. His green outline was swallowed by the glaring red and blue of an advertised slasher flick. "Ha! Double points!"

"Says who?"

"Says me."

He tossed his food into a trash can. "Denied."

"Sore loser."

"No, I respect the rules of the game. You're cheating."

"Hey, we agreed to this. Common people doing weird things is one point. Rare people—like drell—are worth two. Rare people doing weird things is three. You think you're a special little snowflake that gets all these exceptions."

"Projecting, hm, that's a new tactic."

"Did we or did we not agree to these rules? I get double points and that's final."

We turned the corner into chaos.

The first thing I noticed was the old familiar C-Sec blue—blue sirens, blue tape, blue people. Then came the stores on either side, mom and pop groceries from the looks of it, that were covered in acne bullet scars and broken glass. One store had its sign hanging by a few sparking wires and another had a black grenade tattoo. In the center of the stage were bodies, all human and completely stretching between stores, limbs and flesh and hair. A crimson river ran all along the street and branched into little pools around the gutters. The officers on the scene were all covering their noses and treading carefully.

"Looks like we missed the party," Garrus said wryly.

A turian Enforcer outside the zone looked to be taking a statement from a human in a red blazer. It didn't seem to be going so well, considering how the human was yelling at him.

"Ya better quit foostering around and get these feckin' eejits!" the man shouted, with an Irish accent as thick as a potato. "Ya hear me, forkhead?"

The turian had his mandibles clamped down. "Sir, please, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down, ya feckin' bird! I told ya 'bout the feckin' bastard and yer standin' 'round like a feckin' eejit! It's just like bloody C-Sec to do nothin' when shite goes arseways!"

"Sir, calm down. Everything's going to be fine, okay?"

His body shook like rage was literally boiling inside him. "Ya feckin' daft, lad? I want ya to feckin' avenge me boys!"

"Saying please may help," Garrus said as we came up behind them.

The guy spun around—his face was round and flushed with blood, brown eyes rabid and teeth bared. "Shut yer feckin' mouth, skullface. The feck do you know?" He whirled on me. "And you, boyo, ya feckin' ridin' tis dinosaur?"

"I have no part in this."

"Feckin' useless, all of ya! I'll root 'em out meself!" He pushed me and Garrus out of the way and stomped off, a little black raincloud shooting rain and lightning down on his head. The last I saw of the man in the red blazer was him blending into a dark alley, muttering about "lizardlovers". For a while, anyway.

"Finally," the turian said. "I thought I'd have to add to the body count."

"What happened here?" I asked. In the center of the carnage every inch of floor had a thick coat of flesh and vermilion.

The turian took a look back and shrugged. "We don't know—well, obviously there's a lot of dead humans but we don't know much beyond that." He pulled out a cigarette and tried to light it. The ignition clicked with no flame so I ended up lighting it for him. "My guess? Ambush on one or the other, maybe the start of a new gang war. These people are always itching to kill each other."

I saw what he meant. The bodies were divided into two groups clothes-wise, solid red and a mixture of blue, green and white on the other. The reds were Reds, unfunny enough. The famous group Earthborn Shepard came from—xenophobic, territorial, one of the more violent upstart gangs coming out of Earth. The other ones belonged to a mercenary group called Nova. They were basically a joke—colorful outfits with untrained recruits, using shitty guns most warlords wouldn't shoot slaves with. I liked thinking of them as the Coors Light of mercenaries—passable if you're out of options, but something any respectable person would avoid.

Which raised the question of why the hell these guys would attack each other. They existed on completely different ends of the Citadel, dabbled in different trades. And there was a lot more Reds bodies than Nova, which definitely wouldn't have happened in a straight fight. So why would Nova attack a gang much more powerful than them? Or, maybe, who would pay Nova to do it?

"All humans," Garrus said. "Isn't Nova integrated?"

The turian sucked on the fire. "Might be a coincidence."

"Or it might not."

He shrugged. "I don't know, they don't pay me to think. Talk to them," he hooked a thumb at the Investigators, "if you want smart answers."

Something stood out to me. One of the bodies, a female Nova with glassy blue eyes, laid in a puddle of blood a few feet in front of me. On her neck was this little patch of skin that was a slightly different color than the rest. You had to stare at it a while to really notice it. I looked at another body and between his helmet and armor was another off-placed patch of skin. It seemed like—

"Quinn, come on," Garrus said, flicking his head. "We need to go."

"Right."

We took a bending route around the lined off area. I took a last look at the crowd of bodies and dropped the last of my food in the trash. Somewhere in the back of my mind I considered all those dead people to be an omen. Blood begets blood and all that—a pile of bodies usually means you're going to find more piles, either there or down the line.

I had a bad feeling about today, one that didn't fade the farther I got from the carnage behind me.

**7:52, GST**

Pallin didn't look up as we came into his office. We took a seat, which at this point had almost molded themselves to the shapes of our asses, and looked off into our respective corners. The only sound was the faint hum of conversations at the bar next door. If I may, I'd like to point out the stupidity of that. The Executor, literally one of the most important people on the Citadel, had his office—unguarded office, by the way—next to an open bar where people could carry weapons. Apparently no one had seen anything wrong with this arrangement. I don't know, I might be stupid or something.

He closed his computer and shifted his gaze between us. My paycheck started hurting. "Do you know why I called you here?"

"Is that a trick question, sir?" I asked.

"That depends on your answer."

"Nothing stands out," Garrus said. "Quinn?"

"Got nothin'."

Pallin made a low guttural noise, which was his version of a laugh. "Of course. I should expect nothing less from my two best Investigators."

_Oh, wow, sarcasm. How original._

"Sorry about being so late," Garrus said, slightly parting his mandibles. "We were coming as fast as we could but there was a burning building with a bunch of cute asari children inside. You understand."

Pallin's eyes glinted. "Last night, I received multiple witness reports of a human and two turians on top a Presidium bridge, drinking and firing high-powered rifles. An officer was sent to investigate but the three drove off in a C-Sec vehicle." He looked at both of us, his face like a tired principal. "You two wouldn't happen to know anything about, would you?"

I rubbed my stubble. "Uh . . . no, haven't heard about it, sir."

"Really? Because, if said individual was to come forward and admit his mistake, I might be more understanding than if I had to find out myself. I'm not unreasonable."

I tried to read him. He waited. "Alright, well, that human was probably me. I don't know, it was a blurry night."

"Good. Pay dock. Vakarian?"

"Wouldn't know, sorry."

My hangover resurfaced. "It's like you don't want to me be honest."

"Now that that's settled," said Pallin, "we can get to the real problem. There's been a . . . glitch."

"Is it like the last one?" Garrus asked.

Funny story, that. About three months back there was a mistake with the new batch of recruits for the Special Response division. A hanar got in. The higher-ups flipped their shit, especially Pallin, but no one could do anything about it—he had gotten in fair and square, or at least that's what it looked like. Garrus and I had been assigned to find out if it was legit. We had spent maybe twenty minutes working on it when the guy was fired for not being able to lift a pistol. No harm done, I guess, although the media dragged Pallin through the mud about it. Probably good for him, humility and all.

"Nothing as embarrassing," he said. A right mandible flick—disdain. "We've hired one too many Investigation recruits."

Quick rundown—Investigation ran on partnerships of two, odd numbers aren't divisible by two, and . . . yeah, I'm pretty sure you can figure out the rest.

"So?" I said. "Just fire one of 'em."

That infamous glare was leveled my way. "I need probable cause for that. I have people working on the issue but there's still the problem of our extra recruit."

"Let me guess," Garrus said. "You're straddling him with us?"

"Yes."

"Come on, sir," I said. "I'm sure there's better people to babysit this guy."

"If I have to change any diapers," Garrus said, "I'm filing a report."

"That's enough," Pallin said, adopting his "shut the fuck up" tone. "You both will treat this recruit with respect. Understand?"

"What's in it for us?" I asked.

"Your jobs."

"You sure do know how to bargain, sir."

"Well, where is he?" Garrus asked.

Someone knocked on the door. I got the impression that whoever was outside that door had been waiting for the right time to be introduced. "Come in!"

The door opened. The knocker was a salarian, a young kid with smooth tropical blue skin and reflective eyes constantly shifting and searching. He looked thinner than a turian in his C-Sec armor. I wouldn't have regarded him as too noteworthy but he did something odd—his bright and nervous face smiled at Garrus, then Pallin, but when it got to me it fibbed, let a strange anomaly ripple through the flesh. It was so fast that I wasn't even sure it happened. The cautious friendliness of the smile shone through and I nodded to him, deciding I was imagining things.

"Reporting for duty, sir," he said, snapping a salute. "Nice to meet you two."

"Yeah, likewise," I said. "This all, sir?"

"Yes." He pulled up his terminal. "Dismissed."

We left the office, the salarian kid stepping wide out of our way to let us through. The hallway of the embassies was empty and the music and conversations trickled in from the bar.

"So," Garrus said, "your name is. . . ?"

"Dolos," he said quickly. "My full name is Gorot II Heranon Mal Di—"

"Dolos is fine," Garrus said just as quickly. "I'm Garrus. We call that one 'the human'."

"Quinn," I said. "You ready, newbie?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Right, well, let's go then. Something tells me today is gonna be interesting."

**A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know. Terrible update rates. Life and shit, man. Hopefully I can still deliver, if I ever could deliver in the first place. Time will only tell.**

**So, uh, yeah. Hopefully this was entertaining. This chapter was mostly meant as a "where they all are now" kinda thing, but it was also an excuse for me to make a bunch of Hangover-style jokes. Oh, and teasing you guys with plot points, but that's a given. And I know it's called foreshadowing, but, really, it's just teasing, like making the fat TSA agent stare at the candy bar in your luggage. Or something.**

**See you all next time.**


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